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JOHN     ERNST     MATZKE 


LELAND   STANFORD   JUNIOR  UNIVERSITY  PUBLICATIONS 
UNIVERSITY    SERIES 


MATZKE  MEMORIAL 
VOLUME 

CONTAINING  TWO  UNPUBLISHED  PAPERS 
BY 

JOHN   E.  MATZKE 

AND 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

IN  HIS  MEMORY 

BY 

HIS   COLLEAGUES 

(WITH  PORTRAIT) 


STANFORD  UNIVERSITY.  CALIFORNIA 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE  UNIVERSITY 

I9II 


Stanford  University 
Press 


Bo<nanc« 


PREFACE 

SOON  after  Dr.  Matzke's  untimely  death  the  Stanford  Philological 
Association  decided  to  publish  a  volume  dedicated  to  his  memory, 
which  should  contain  his  unpublished  studies  and,  besides,  papers 
contributed  by  his  Colleagues  of  the  Philological  Departments. 

Most  of  Dr.  Matzke's  unpublished  longer  articles  are  being 
published  in  scientific  journals,  as  indicated  in  the  accompanying  Biblio- 
graphy, but  it  is  our  privilege  to  present  here,  by  permission  of  Dr. 
Matzke's  widow,  two  of  his  most  important  papers.  The  one  on  Gaston 
Paris  was  read  by  our  friend  immediately  after  the  death  of  his  great 
master,  and  will  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  heard  it.  The  second 
paper  was  given  as  the  President's  Address  before  the  Philological 
Association  of  the  Pacific  Coast  and  was  to  be  printed  by  the  author 
himself  after  revision. 

Among  the  papers  of  his  colleagues  was  to  be  inserted  one  by  Dr. 
Fairclough  on  "Some  Aspects  of  Roman  Slavery,"  but,  unfortunately,  ill 
health  kept  the  contributor  from  completing  it  in  time  for  insertion  in 
this  volume. 

Editorial  Committee: 

EvvALD  Flugel,  Chairman, 
Oliver  Martin  Johnston, 
Augustus  Taber  Murray, 
George   Hempl, 
Jefferson  Elmore. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

Portrait    Frontispiece 

Preface  3 

John  Ernst  Matzke 7 

Bibliography 9 

Gaston   Paris    13 

John  Ernst  Matzke 

The  Development  and  Present  Status  of  Romanic  Dialect- 
ology            21 

John  Ernst  Matzke 


PuRGATORio  XI — The  Lord's  Prayer 37 

Translated  by  Melville  Best  Anderson 

The  Doctrine  of  Verisimilitude   in   French   and   English 

Criticism  of  the  Seventeenth  Century 38 

Raymond  Macdonald  Alden 

The  Relation  of  the  German  "Gregorius  Auf  Dem  Stein" 

to  the  Old  French  Poem  "La  Vie  de  Saint  Gregoire"        49 
Clifford  Gilmore  Allen 

Spenser's     "Faerie     Queene,"     III,     11,     and     Boccaccio's 

"Fiammetta"   57 

William  Dinsmore  Briggs 

Some  Phases  of  Martial's  Literary  Attitude 62 

Jefferson  Elmore 


TABLE   OF    CONTENTS  5 

Old  French  ne — se — non  in  Other  Romance  Languages 76 

AuRELio  Macedonio  Espinosa 

Benedicitee   94 

EWAI.D  Flugel 

Propertiana 100 

Benjamin  Oliver  Foster 

Early  Etruscan  Inscriptions  (Fabretti  2342-2346) iii 

George  Hempl 

Origin  of  the  Legend  of  Floire  and  Blancheflor 125 

Oliver  Martin  Johnston 

Aratus  and  Theocritus 139 

Augustus  Taber  Murray 

The  Last  Words  of  Shakespeare's  Characters 148 

Alphonso  Gerald  Newcomer 

A  Commentary  on  Verses  36-52  of  the  "Excuse  a  Ariste"      156 

Colbert  Searles 


JOHN  ERNST  MATZKE  was  born  in  Breslau, 
Germany,  October  20,  1862.  He  came  to  this 
country  when  he  was  fifteen  years  old,  and 
finished  his  collegiate  education  at  Hope  College, 
Holland,  Michigan.  After  receiving  the  Doctor's  degree 
at  the  Johns  Hopkins  University  in  1888,  he  was 
professor  for  one  year  in  Bowdoin  College,  and  one 
year  in  the  University  of  Indiana,  associate  for  two 
years  in  the  Johns  Hopkins  faculty,  and  during  the 
remaining  seventeen  years  of  his  life  was  professor  of 
the  Romanic  Languages  in  the  Leland  Stanford  Junior 
University.  From  1899  to  1904,  the  five  years  following 
the  organization  of  the  Philological  Association  of  the 
Pacific  Coast,  he  was  secretary  and  treasurer  of  the 
Association,  and  also  served  as  its  president  during 
1908-09.  He  died  September  18,  1910,  in  the  City  of 
Mexico,  where  he  had  gone  to  represent  Stanford 
University  at  the  inauguration  of  the  National  University 
of  Mexico. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY ' 

Review    of    Sachs'    Geschlechtszvechsel    im    Franzosischen.      MLN.    ii 

(1887),  167-168. 
Modern  Picard  bieu  from  helium.    MLN.  iv  (1889),  8-1 1. 
Review  of  Wolfflin's  Uebcr  die  Latinitat  der  Perigrinatio  ad  loca  sancta. 

MLN.  IV  (1889),  218-219. 
Review  of  Scheie  de  Vere's  edition  of  Moliere's  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme. 

MLN.  IV  (1889),  248-249. 
Review  of  Haas'  Zur  Geschichte  des  I  vor  folgendem  Consonanten.  MLN. 

IV  (1889),  249-251. 
Review   of  Waldner's   Quellen  des  parasitischen  i,   and   of   Sabersky's 

Parasitische  i.     MLN.  v  (1890),  50-53. 
Review  of  Jespersen's  Articulation  of  Speech  Sounds.    MLN.  v  (1890), 

86-87. 
Dialektische  EigenthUmlichkeiten  in  der  Entwickelung  des  mouillierten 

I  im  Altfransosischen.    PMLA.  v  (1890),  52-108;  also  separately, 

Paris,  Welter,  1890.     57  pp.     (Johns  Hopkins  dissertation.) 
The  Development  of  cl  into  /'  in  the  Romance  Languages.     MLN.  v 

(1890),  177-179- 
Edition  of  Hugo's  Hernani.    Boston,  Heath  1891.    xxvii,  201  pp. 
The  Historical  Hernani.     MLN.  vi  (1891),  37-41. 
A  Study  of  the  Versification  and  Rimes  of  Hugo's  Hernani.    MLN.  vi 

(1891),  168-171. 
Some  Remarks  on  the  Development  of  ct  in  the  Romance  Languages. 

MLN.  VI   (1891),  136-139. 
/  in  French  lieu  =  Latin  locum.    MLN.  vii  (1892),  65-69. 
Review  of  Rousselot's  La  methode  graphique,  and  of  Koschwitz's  La 

phonetique  experimentale.    MLN.  vii  (1892),  146-149. 
On  the  Sources  of  the  Italian  and  English  Idioms  Meaning  'To  Take  Time 

by  the  Forelock.'    PMLA.  viii   (1893),  303-334. 
Review  of  Schwan's  Grammatik  des  Altfransosischen.    MLN.  ix  (1894), 

103-110. 
Diez  Memorial.    MLN.  ix.  (1894),  192. 
On  the  Pronunciation  of  the  French  Nasal  Vowels,  in,  ain,  ein  in  the 

XVI  and  XVII  Centuries.    PMLA.  ix  (1894),  451-461. 

1  Compiled  by  Dr.  E.  C.  Armstrong,  and  reprinted,  with  perriission,  from 
Modern   Language  Notes,  xxv,  232, 


10  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

Review  of  Garner's  edition  of  Hugo's  Ruy  Bias.     MLN.   x   (1895), 

140-143. 
Ueber  die  Aussprache  des  altfranzosischen  tie  von  lateinischem  o.    ZRPh. 

XX  (1896),  1-14. 
Edition  of  Tamayo  y  Bans'   Un  Drama  Nuevo.     Nev^f  York,  Jenkins, 

1897.     iv.  107  pp. 
First  Spanish  Readings.    Boston,  Heath,  1897.    iv,  219  pp. 
A  Primer  of  French  Pronunciation.    New  York,  Holt,  1897.    vi,  y^  pp. 

3d  edition,  revised,  1905.    xi,  104  pp. 
The  Question  of  Free  and  Checked  Vov^-els  in  Gallic  Popular  Latin. 

PMLA.  XIII  (1898),  1-41. 
The  Unity  of  Place  in  the  Cid.    MLN.  xiii  (1898),  197-205. 
Spanish  Readings.     MLN.  xiii   (1898),  391-392. 
Edition  of  Lois  dc  GuiUaume  Ic  Conquerant.     Paris,  Picard,  1899.     liv, 

32  pp. 
The  Sources  of  Corneille's  Tragedy  La  Mort  de  Pompee.     MLN.  xv 

(1900),  142-152. 
The  Anglo-Norman  Poet  Simund  de  Freine.     TAPhA.  xxxiii   (1902), 

xc. 
Review   of   Thomas'   Melanges  d'   etymologic   frangaise.     MLN.   xvii 

(1902),  187-190. 
Review  of  Meyer-Liibke's  Einfiihrung  in  das  Studium  der  romanischen 

Sprachwissenschaft.    MLN.  xvii  (1902),  259-262. 
Contributions  to  the  History  of  the  Legend  of  Saint  George.     PMLA. 

XVII  (1902),  464-535;  xviii  (1903),  99-171- 
Edition  of  Corneille's  Cinna.    Boston,  Heath,  1903.    xvi,  128  pp. 
Corneille's  Cinna.    MLN.  xviii  (1903),  217-218. 
Edition  of  Corneille's  Horace.    Boston,  Heath,  1904.  xx,  144  pp. 
A  Neglected  Source  of  Corneille's  Horace.    MPhi.  i  (1904),  345-354. 
The  Legend  of  Saint  George ;  its  Development  into  a  Roman  d'Aventure. 

PMLA.  XIX  (1904)  449-478. 
Some  Examples  of  French  as  Spoken  by  Englishmen  in  Old  French 

Literature.     MPhi.  iii  (1905),  47-60. 
The  History  of  ai  and  ei  in   French  before  the   Dental,   Labial,   and 

Palatal  Nasals.    PMLA.  xxi  (1906).     637-686. 
Edition   of   Moliere's   Le   Tartuffe.     New    York,    Holt,    1906.      xxvii, 

169  pp. 
The  Source  and  Composition  of  Ille  and  Galeron.     MPhi.  iv   (1907), 

471-488. 
The  Lay  of  Eliduc  and  the  Legend  of  the  Husband  with  Two  Wives. 

MPhi.  V  (1907),  211-239. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  II 

On  the  History  of  Palatal  n  in  French  with  Special  Reference  to  o  and 
Open  e.    PMLA.  xxiv  (1909),  476-493. 

Edition  of  Les  oeuvres  de  Simund  de  Freine.  Paris,  1909  (SATF.), 
vi,  187  pp. 

Review  of  Luquiens'  Introduction  to  Old  French  Phonology  and  Morph- 
ology.   JEGPh.  IX  (1910),  107-112. 

The  Legend  of  the  Eaten  Heart.    MLN.  xxvi  (1911),  1-8. 

The  Oldest  Form  of  the  Beves  Legend,  to  appear  in  Modern  Philology. 

The  Roman  du  Chatelain  de  Couci  and  Fauchet's  Chronique.  Studies 
in  Honor  of  A.  Marshall  Elliott,  I  (1911). 

An  edition  of  Le  Roman  du  Chatelain  de  Couci,  prepared  for  the  Societe 
des  anciens  textes  francais.     (Ms.  of  the  text  complete.) 

Gaston  Paris.    An  address.  Mat::ke  Memorial  Volume,  13-20. 

The  Development  and  Present  Status  of  Romanic  Dialectology.  Mafske 
Memorial  Volume,  21-25. 


GASTON  PARIS 
[Paper  read  before  the  Stanford  Philological  Association,  April  15,  1903] 

John  Ernst  Matzke 

ON  March  16,  1894,  it  was  my  privilege  in  this  very  room  to  read 
a  paper  before  the  Philological  Association  on  Diez  and  the 
Study  of  Romanic  Philology  in  commemoration  of  the  one  hun- 
dredth anniversary  of  the  birth  of  the  founder  of  our  science.  I  little 
dreamed  then  that  ere  a  decade  had  passed  away  we  should  be  called  upon 
to  mourn  the  loss  of  the  greatest  of  the  great  master's  pupils.  In  the 
division  of  tasks  which  we  have  assigned,  it  has  fallen  to  my  lot  to  say  a 
few  words  on  the  personality  of  the  man. 

The  name  Paris  is  a  name  worthy  of  reverence  by  all  devoted  to  the 
study  of  the  language  and  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages.  If  ever  there 
was  an  instance  of  the  influence  of  heredity  and  early  environment,  it  was 
here.  Gaston  Paris,  administrateur  of  the  College  de  France,  became  in 
1872  the  successor  of  his  father  in  the  chair  of  Medieval  Literature  at  that 
institution,  and  the  work  which  the  father  had  made  illustrious  was 
rendered  famous  by  the  greater  son.  The  elder  Paris  had  begun  his  labors 
in  this  field  in  1824  with  a  pamphlet  entitled  Apologie  de  I'ecole  roman- 
tique  and  was  appointed  incumbent  of  the  newly  created  chair  at  the 
College  de  France  in  1853.  The  son  took  up  the  work  where  his  father 
laid  it  down  and  continued  it  to  the  5th  of  March,  1903,  with  even  greater 
vigor  and  fertility.  The  name  of  Paris  stands  thus  for  eight  decades  of 
uninterrupted  labor,  and  the  sum  total  of  the  result,  the  additions  to 
human  knowledge,  it  is  scarcely  within  the  power  of  a  single  mind  to 
appreciate. 

Gaston  Paris  was  born  at  Avenay  in  the  Champagne  on  August  9, 
1829.  His  early  studies  were  carried  on  in  the  College  Rollin  in  Paris, 
where  he  graduated  in  1856.  By  that  time  the  path  of  his  future  labor 
was  already  definitely  outlined.  In  1857  he  went  to  Germany,  first  to 
Bonn  where  he  came  under  the  direct  influence  of  Diez,  and  the  following 
year  he  spent  in  Gottingen  under  the  teaching  of  Ernst  Curtius.  He  was 
attracted  to  him  through  a  love  for  classical  antiquity,  and  though  his 
own  later  work  lay  in  lines  quite  apart  from  this  division  of  philological 
science,  yet  the  rigorous  method  and  the  inspiration  gained  there,  have 
left  their  definite  traces.  After  his  return  to  Paris  in  1858,  he  entered  the 
£cole  des  Chartes,  where  he  received  in  1861  the  diploma  as  archiviste- 
paleographe,  at  the  same  time  presenting  as  thesis  his  first  important 


14  MATZKE    MEMORIAL  VOLUME 

publication,  the  &tude  siir  le  role  de  I'accent  latin  dans  la  langiie  fran- 
(aise.  In  1863  he  translated  into  French  the  introduction  to  Diez' 
Grammatik  der  romanischen  Sprachen.  In  1865  he  passed  the  exam- 
ination for  the  doctoral  es  lettres.  His  Latin  thesis  was  entitled  De 
Pseudo-Turpino,  his  French  thesis  was  the  epoch  making  work  on  the 
Histoire  poetique  de  Charlemagne,  a  study  on  the  Old  French  epics  on 
Charlemagne  and  the  national  poet,  which  has  been  the  basis  of  all  further 
study  on  this  subject  ever  since.  In  1869  he  became  instructor  in  the 
newly  founded  ficole  Pratique  des  Hautes  fitudes;  in  1872,  a  memorable 
year  for  the  history  of  our  science,  he  succeeded  his  father  as  professor 
of  Medieval  Literature  in  the  College  de  France,  and  soon  after,  in  collabo- 
ration with  Paul  Meyer,  founded  the  Romania,  now  in  the  32d  volume,  and 
published  the  Alexis,  the  first  critical  edition  of  an  Old  French  text.  In 
1875  he  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Societe  des  anciens  textes  fran- 
gais;  in  1876  he  was  elected  m.ember  of  the  Academic  des  Inscriptions  et 
Belles  Lettres.  His  final  apotheosis  occurred  in  1896  with  his  election  to 
the  French  Academy. 

Formative  influences.  Among  the  influences  potent  in  shaping  the 
magnificent  capabilities  with  which  nature  had  endowed  him,  two  stand 
out  more  prominently  than  others ;  these  were  the  teaching  of  his  father 
and  that  of  Diez. 

To  the  former  he  has  devoted  with  filial  piety  a  long  study  in  vol. 
XI  of  the  Romania,  pp.  1-21.  It  would  be  impossible  here  to  cull  from 
these  pages  the  passages  which  indicate  so  clearly  the  consciousnesss 
of  his  indebtedness.  To  do  so  it  would  be  necessary  to  transcribe 
practically  the  whole  article,  his  opening  lecture  at  the  College  de 
France  in  1881.  But  the  same  spirit  is  shown  equally  in  the  dedication 
which  accompanied  the  publication  of  the  Histoire  poetique,  nearly  twenty 
years  before. 

"Mon  cher  pere : — 

"Tout  enfant  je  connaissais  Roland,  Berte  aux  grands  pieds  et 
le  bon  cheval  Bayard,  aussi  bien  que  la  Barbe-Bleu  ou  Cendrillon.  Vous 
nous  racontiez  parfois  quelqu'une  de  leurs  marveilleuses  aventures,  et 
I'impression  de  grandeur  heroique  qu'en  recevait  notre  imagination  ne 
s'cst  point  eflfacee.  Plus  tard,  c'est  dans  vos  entretiens,  dans  vos  legons 
et  dans  vos  livres  que  ma  curiosite  pour  ces  vieux  recits,  long  temps 
vaguement  entrevus,  a  trouve  a  se  satisfaire.  Quand  j'ai  voulu,  a  mon 
tour,  etudier  leur  origine,  leur  caractere  et  les  formes  diverses  qu'ils  ont 
revetues,  votre  bibliotheque,  rassemblee  avec  tant  de  soin  depuis  plus  de 
trente  annees,  a  mis  a  ma  disposition  des  materiaux  qu'il  m'  eut  ete  bien 


GASTON   PARIS  —  MATZKE  15 

difficiles  de  reunir  et  souvent,  meme  de  soupQonner.  Vos  encouragements 
m'ont  soutenu  dans  le  cours  de  mes  recherches ;  vos  conseils  en  ont  rendu 
le  resultat  moins  defectueux.  En  vous  dediant  ce  livre  je  ne  fais  done  en 
quelque  fagon  que  vous  restituer  ce  qui  vous  appartient.  Acceptez-le 
comme  un  faible  temoignage  de  ma  profonde  et  respectueuse  tendresse." 

When  Diez  died  in  1876, G.Paris  wrote  as  follows, i^owanm  V,p.4i2: 
"Des  deux  directeurs  de  la  Romania,  I'un  a  ete  son  eleve  il  y  a  vingt  ans 
et  a  toujours  garde  pour  lui  les  sentiments  du  plus  affectueux  respect  .  .  . 
Nous  sommes  un  peu  maintenant  comme  des  orphelins ;  nous  n'avons 
plus  ce  doux  sentiment  du  disciple,  qui  aime  a  s'incliner  devant  une 
parole  respectee  et  chere ;  et  nous  nous  disons  aussi  avec  regret  que  nous 
ne  pourrons  plus  lui  offrir  les  quelques  epis  ramasses  sur  ses  pas  dans  le 
champ  qu'il  moissonna  si  heroiquement,  glanes  accueillies  toujours  par 
lui  avec  tant  de  bienveillance,  et  avec  une  sorte  d'admiration.  comme  si 
c'eut  ete  quelque  chose  en  comparaison  de  sa  recolte.  Tous  les  romanistes 
actuels  se  sont  assis  au  pied  de  sa  chaire  ou  se  sont  formes  a  la  lecture  de 
ses  livres ;  puisse  le  sentiment  de  cette  filiation  commune  les  animer 
toujours  de  son  esprit  !  Nul  homme  ne  fut  plus  inaccessible  aux  rivalites 
mesquines,  aux  passions  etroites,  aux  prejuges  de  clocher  ou  de  pays. 
II  mettait  son  patriotisme  a  faire  des  oeuvres  dont  sa  nation  put  etre  fiere, 
.  .  .  C'est  en  nous  inspirant  de  ces  sentiments  eleves,  c'est  en  continuant, 
avec  la  methode  qu'il  nous  a  enseignee,  I'oeuvre  qu'il  a  entreprise,  que 
nous  rendrons  a  sa  memoire  un  hommage  vraiment  digne  d'elle." 

Personality.  He  was  tall  and  stately,  and  at  first  sight  conveyed 
the  impression  of  superiority.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  wonder- 
fully kind,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  was  soft  and  sympathetic.  Totally 
blind  in  his  left  eye,  and  during  the  last  years  of  his  life  almost  equally 
so  in  the  right,  he  could  read  only  by  approaching  the  page  to  within  a 
painful  proximity  of  the  eyes.    His  nature  was  kind  and  sympathetic. 

The  general  experience  of  students  who  came  under  his  influence 
is  best  illustrated  by  some  personal  reminiscences.  Difficult  of  access  on 
account  of  the  many  arduous  duties  imposed  upon  him,  the  first  interview 
took  place  at  his  consultation  hour  on  Thursday  morning  at  his  home. 
One  entered  the  sanctum  with  palpitating  heart,  almost  overawed  by  the 
fact  that  at  last  one  was  to  meet  the  master,  whose  writings  had  filled 
the  mind  with  admiration.  All  the  fine  speeches  and  sentences  prepared 
for  the  occasion  had  disappeared  as  if  by  magic  and  he  must  often  have 
smiled  at  the  stammering  and  stuttering  professors  who  made  bold  to 
lay  their  ignorance  bare  before  him.  But  the  cordial  greeting,  the  sym- 
pathetic questioning,  perchance  the  kind  remembrance  of  some  youthful 
publication,  soon  caused  all  restraint  to  disappear,  and  before  the  interview 


16  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

was  over,  a  bond  of  union  between  the  pupil  and  the  teacher  was  estab- 
lished. Then  as  the  days  wore  on,  the  relation  became  closer  and  the 
admiration  grew  into  love.  In  my  own  experience  I  have  never  seen  a 
teacher  who  became  the  idol  of  his  pupils  as  did  Gaston  Paris.  And  yet 
this  worship  was  not  blind. 

The  keynote  of  his  teaching,  the  element  which  impressed  us  more 
than  the  riches  of  facts  acquired  by  his  untiring  labors,  was  the  pure 
unselfish  devotion  to  truth,  which  characterized  them.  This  sentiment, 
always  present  in  his  attitude,  was  voiced  by  him  on  various  occasions. 
Once  under  particularly  trying  circumstances  in  1870,  in  the  opening 
lecture  of  the  course  on  the  Old  French  epic  which  he  delivered  at  the 
College  de  France  as  a  substitute  for  his  father,  he  said:  "J^  professe 
absolument  et  sans  reserve  cette  doctrine,  que  la  science  n'a  d'autre  objet 
que  la  verite,  et  la  verite  pour  elle-meme,  sans  aucun  souci  des  conse- 
quences bonnes  ou  mauvaises,  regrettables  ou  heureuses,  que  cette 
verite  pourrait  avoir  dans  la  pratique.  Celui  qui,  par  un  motif  patriot- 
ique,  religieux  et  meme  moral,  se  permet  dans  les  faits  qu'il  etudie,  dans 
les  conclusions  qu'il  tire,  la  plus  petite  dissimulation,  I'alteration  la  plus 
legere,  n'est  pas  digne  d'avoir  sa  place  dans  le  grand  laboratoire  ou  la 
probite  est  un  titre  d'admission  plus  indispensable  que  I'habilite." 

Twenty-seven  years  later,  on  the  occasion  of  his  reception  into  the 
Academy,  he  spoke  as  follows : 

"On  dit  a  la  jeunesse:  II  faut  aimer,  il  faut  vouloir,  il  faut  croire,  il 
faut  agir,  sans  lui  dire  et  sans  pouvoir  lui  dire  quel  doit  etre  I'object  de 
son  amour,  le  mobile  de  sa  volonte,  le  symbole  de  sa  croyance,  le  but  de 
son  action.  II  faut  avant  tout,  lui  dirais-je,  si  j'avais  I'espoir  d'etre 
entendu,  aimez  la  verite,  vouloir  la  connaitre,  croire  en  elle,  travailler,  si 
on  le  peut,  a  la  decouvrir.  II  faut  savoir  la  regarder  en  face,  et  se  jurer 
de  ne  jamais  la  fausser,  I'attenuer  ou  I'exagerer,  meme  en  vue  d'un  interet 
qui  semblerait  plus  haut  qu'elle,  car  il  ne  saurait  y  en  avoir  de  plus  haut, 
et  du  moment,  ou  on  la  trahit,  fut-ce  dans  le  secret  de  son  coeur,  on  subit 
une  diminution  intime  qui,  si  legere  qu'elle  soit,  se  fait  bientot  sentir  dans 
toute  I'activite  morale.  II  n'est  donne  qu'  a  un  petit  nombre  d'hommes 
d'etendre  son  empire ;  il  est  donne  a  tous  de  se  soumettre  a  ses  lois. 
Soyez  surs  que  la  discipline  qu'elle  imposera  a  vos  esprits  se  fera  sentir 
a  vos  consciences  et  a  vos  coeurs.  L'homme  qui  a,  jusque  dans  les  plus 
petites  choses,  I'horreur  de  la  tromperie  et  meme  de  la  dissimulation  est 
par  la-meme  eloigne  de  la  plupart  des  vices  et  prepare  a  toutes  les 
vertus." 

The  result  upon  the  students  of  this  lofty  attitude  on  the  part  of  the 
teacher   has   been   beautifully   expressed   by    Heinrich    Morf.     "Diesem 


GASTON  PARIS  —  MATZKE  17 

Geiste  gait  die  Hingabe,  das  schrankenlose  Vertrauen  seiner  Schiiler 
die  nicht  in  verba  magistri,  aber  in  animiim  magistri  schworen.  Sein 
Unterricht  ward  dadurch  zur  Unterweisung  in  des  Wortes  vollster 
schonster  Bedeutung.     Er  war  ein  Erzieher." 

What  higher  praise  could  be  bestowed  upon  any  man !  And  the 
best  practical  illustration  of  this  attitude  can  be  seen  in  the  touching 
dedication  which  Bedier,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  his  pupils,  penned 
when  he  published  his  masterly  study  on  the  Old  French  Fabliaux,  The 
pupil's  conclusions  were  in  several  very  important  particulars  at  variance 
with  the  theory  of  Gaston  Paris  concerning  the  transmission  of  these 
popular  stories  from  the  East.  In  fact  in  some  vital  features  he  denied 
that  theory.  Yet  he  presented  his  contributions  to  the  problem  as  inspired 
by  the  master's  teaching. 

'11  se  trouve  que  ce  travail  sur  les  fabliaux,  que  M.  G,  Paris  a  de 
plus  ou  moins  pres  dirige,  contredit  certaines  idees  qu'il  a  soutenues. 
Cette  theorie  orientaliste  que  j'attaque,  il  ne  I'a  pas  acceptee  dans  ses 
pretentions  excessives ;  mais  dans  la  limite  ou  elle  est  en  efifet  vraisem- 
blable,  il  la  croit  vraie.  L'etude  des  faits  m'a  conduit  a  des  conclusions 
contraires.  Je  sens  combien  elles  sont  temeraires,  se  heurtant  a  une  si 
redoubtable  autorite.  Je  ne  les  exprime  pas  sans  tremblement:  je  les 
exprime  pourtant. 

Par  la  du  moins,  M.  G.  Paris  me  reconnaitra  comme  de  son  ecole. 
Parmi  ceux  qui  la  forment,  il  n'en  est  pas  un  qui  soit  a  son  egard  comme 
le  famulus  passif  du  docteur  Faust.  Tous  ont  appris  de  lui  la  recherche 
scrupuleuse  et  patiente,  mais  independante  et  brave,  du  vrai ;  la 
soumission  du  travailleur,  non  a  un  principe  exterieur  d'autorite,  mais 
aux  faits,  et  aux  consequences  qu'il  en  voit  decouler;  la  defiance  de  soi, 
la  prudence  a  conclure,  mais  aussi,  quand  il  croit  que  les  faits  ont  parle, 
I'honnetete  qui  s'applique  a  redire  ce  qu'ils  ont  dit." 

The  scene  of  Gaston  Paris'  labors  lay  in  the  College  de  France  and 
in  the  ficole  des  Hautes  fitudes.  In  the  former  his  lectures  were  open 
to  all,  and  were  eagerly  followed  by  large  audiences  of  interested 
listeners.  At  the  ficole  des  Hautes  fitudes  the  courses  were  more  difficult 
of  access  and  it  was  always  considered  an  honor  and  a  privilege  to  be 
admitted  to  this  smaller  circle.  And  here  it  was  particularly  the  Con- 
ference du  Dimanche  which  has  become  famous  among  students  of 
Romanic  philology  throughout  the  whole  world.  It  was  a  seminary  in 
the  strictest  sense  of  the  term,  which  met  regularly  at  10:30  on  Sunday 
morning  at  the  home  of  Gaston  Paris,  in  his  private  library.  To  be 
admitted,  it  was  necessary  to  obtain  his  special  permission,  and  only  the 
most  mature  students  were  accepted.    The  subjects  studied  varied  from 


18  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

year  to  year,  but  not  a  session  passed  without  producing  some  important 
contribution  to  science,  which  was  usually  published  soon  after  in  the 
Romania. 

It  was  in  these  meetings  that  the  personality  of  the  man  showed 
itself  to  the  best  advantage.  During  the  year  when  it  was  my  great 
privilege  to  be  a  member  of  this  conference,  the  greater  portion  of  each 
meeting  was  taken  up  by  him  with  a  discussion  of  the  most  important 
contributions  to  our  science  that  were  constantly  sent  to  him  from  every 
portion  of  the  globe.  It  seemed  the  simplest  matter  in  the  world  to  hear 
him  characterize  the  various  volumes  which  he  had  selected, — turning 
from  a  study  on  the  crusades  to  another  on  etymologies  or  on  Dante  or 
on  the  legend  of  the  seven  Infantes  de  Lara.  In  every  subject  he  was 
perfectly  at  home  and  in  every  case  he  knew  how  to  characterize  the 
merits  of  the  work  so  aptly  and  so  tersely ;  and  often  even  now  not  only 
his  words  but  even  the  very  shape  of  the  volume  as  he  held  it  up  before  us 
come  back  to  my  mind. 

It  was  in  these  meetings  that  the  bonds  of  friendship  were  woven, 
which  united  teacher  and  pupils,  and  which  gave  to  his  listeners  a  feeling 
of  solidarity,  and  made  them  forget  the  distant  lands  whence  they  had 
come  to  drink  deep  at  this  fountain  of  inspiration,  which  flowed  so  freely 
and  so  full.  It  would  be  impossible  to  characterize  the  spirit  of  these 
meetings  better  than  Morf  has  done.  "In  diesem  Unterricht  knupften 
die  Bande,  durch  welche  die  jiingere  Romanistenwelt  mit  Paris  person- 
lich  verbunden  ist.  Wie  viele  grundlegende  Arbeiten  sind  aus  diesen 
Uebungen  hervorgegangen,  die  ein  wahres  Laboratorium  der  Philologie 
darstellten,  Wenn  der  Chef  dieses  Laboratoriums  einen  Ehrentag  feierte, 
dann  stromten  die  wissenschaftlichen  Gaben  aus  alien  Landern  zusammen. 
Aus  den  Biichern,  die  dankbare  Schijler  und  Mitforscher  Gaston  Paris 
gewidmet  haben,  liesse  sich  eine  Bibliothek  bilden,  an  der  die  Fortschritte 
unserer  Wissenschaft  gemessen  werden  konnten.  Und  an  dem  Ton  der 
Widmungen  lasst  sich  die  Liebe  und  Verehrung  ermessen,  die  seine 
wissenschaftliche  Familie  ihm  entgegenbrachte." 

Tu  duca,  tu  signore  e  tu  maestro. 

The  fertility  of  this  master  mind  one  can  view  only  with  awe. 
During  the  forty  years  of  his  active  labors  he  has  worked  constantly  and 
without  interruption.  The  complete  bibliography  which  is  in  course  of 
preparation,  it  is  estimated,  will  contain  some  fifteen  hundred  titles ;  which 
means  a  new  production  on  an  average  every  two  weeks.  In  contents 
these  contributions  range  over  the  whole  domain  of  Romanic  philology 
in    phonology,    morphology,    syntax,    etymology    and    semasiology,    in 


GASTON   PARIS  —  MATZKE  19 

literature  and  popular  tradition.  No  wonder  that  the  name  of  Gaston 
Paris  is  a  household  word  in  the  courses  of  our  science.  No  matter 
where  the  attention  is  arrested,  no  matter  what  theory  of  language  or 
literature  is  under  discussion,  whether  the  facts  be  finally  established,  or 
whether  they  be  still  wrapped  in  the  mists  of  uncertainty,  the  name  of  the 
master  must  always  be  coupled  with  the  discussion.  Sometimes  he  has 
spoken  the  last  word  on  the  question,  at  others  he  has  brought  new  light 
into  dark  corners  and  opened  up  new  avenues  of  investigation.  And  this 
man,  so  diligent,  so  faithful,  so  conscientious,  died  as  he  had  lived,  his  pen 
in  his  hand.  Perhaps  the  most  touching  word  at  the  sad  occasion  of  his 
funeral  in  the  stately  court  of  the  College  de  France  was  said  by  M. 
Thomas.  Sick  and  feeble  he  left  Paris  on  February  24  to  seek  in  Cannes 
the  rest  and  quiet  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  find  at  home.  On 
March  5th  he  passed  away  to  rest  from  his  labors,  but  even  after  the 
telegraph  had  already  announced  the  sad  news  of  his  death,  the  mail 
still  continued  to  bring  to  Paris  the  proof  sheets  of  a  volume  for  the 
Societc  des  Anciens  Textes,  with  his  annotations  and  corrections. 

In  closing,  may  I  be  allowed  a  few  words  of  quite  a  personal  nature. 
It  was  not  easy  to  win  the  friendship  of  this  man,  who  could  read  so 
clearly  in  the  hearts  of  his  listeners.  All  that  came  near  him  had  to  pass 
through  a  period  of  apprenticeship,  as  it  were.  What  Gaston  Paris 
looked  for  was  not  brilliant  acquisition,  but  honesty  and  diligence  and  high 
ideals.  Those  who  were  found  wanting,  disappeared  as  they  had  come. 
But,  if  one  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  his  requirements,  his  friendship 
was  won,  and  he  would  pour  out  the  best  that  he  had  in  counsel  and 
information,  with  a  generosity  that  cannot  be  described.  It  was  this  side 
of  the  man  which  caused  the  devotion,  shared  by  all  his  students.  Any 
work,  however  crude,  if  done  conscientiously,  was  certain  of  his  help  and 
benevolent  criticism. 

During  my  last  visit  to  Paris  I  submitted  to  him  the  edition  of 
Simund  de  Freine,  which  I  had  undertaken  at  his  suggestion.  The 
work  was  finished  too  late  to  send  to  him  before  his  departure  for 
Cerisy-La-Salle,  his  country  home  in  Normandy  and  now  his  final 
resting  place.  He  invited  me  then  to  visit  him  there  and  bring  the 
manuscript  along,  so  that  we  might  look  over  it  together,  as  he 
expressed  it.  In  this  way  I  had  the  very  great  privilege  of  passing  several 
days  at  his  home,  and  these  days  will  always  live  with  me  as  the  brightest 
in  my  career  as  a  student.  While  I  had  before  seen  him  only  occasionally 
otherwise  than  in  an  official  relation,  I  had  here  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
him  as  a  man,  of  walking  with  him  through  the  beautiful  surroundings 
of  the  old  chateau  dating  from  the  time  of  Henry  IV,  and  of  coming 


20  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

closely  in  touch  with  his  beautiful  generous  nature.  During  those  days 
he  gave  himself  completely  up  to  me,  putting  his  wide  knowledge  entirely 
at  my  disposal.  The  manuscript  of  my  work,  which  I  had  sent  him  some 
days  before,  already  bore  the  marks  of  his  pencil.  Together  we  read  the 
greater  portion  of  the  text  that  I  had  prepared ;  where  I  had  erred,  he  saw 
clearly,  and  lines  which  I  had  failed  to  understand,  he  grasped  in  an 
instant.  Often  I  exclaimed  that  I  was  imposing  upon  his  kindness,  but 
he  would  hear  of  no  such  thing.  With  my  manuscript  close  to  his  single 
eye,  he  would  decipher  my  unfamiliar  writing,  would  answer  my  questions 
and  discuss  my  difficulties.  And  all  this  was  done  so  naturally  and  with 
such  a  total  absence  of  constraint  that  I  really  almost  forgot  that  I  was 
talking  to  the  greatest  authority  in  France  on  these  matters,  and  for  the 
moment  almost  believed  that  he  said  the  truth  when  he  persisted  in  saying 
that  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  read  my  text. 

When  the  time  for  my  departure  had  come,  he  accompanied  me  to 
the  little  station  where  I  was  to  take  the  train  that  would  take  me  to 
Havre.  He  stood  by  the  door  of  the  compartment  until  the  train  pulled 
out,  and  I  can  still  see  the  kindly  smile  on  his  face  as  I  bade  him  a  last 
farewell. 

The  memory  of  those  days  has  come  to  me  with  wonderful  strength 
during  these  weeks  since  the  telegraph  brought  the  unexpected  news  of 
his  sudden  death.  And  it  is  memories  of  similar  acts  of  kindness  in  one 
way  or  another,  which  have  cast  a  gloom  over  the  students  of  Romanic 
philology  the  wide  world  over,  wherever  a  pupil  of  this  master  is  trying 
to  arouse  enthusiasm  for  the  studies  which  he  loved  so  well. 

The  best  of  Romanic  literature  nas  been  drawn  upon  for  passages 
in  dedication  of  books  offered  to  him,  to  express  the  true  veneration  in 
which  he  was  held.  I  wish  to  close  this  imperfect  sketch  with  a  few  lines 
from  the  Chanson  de  Roland,  in  which  Ganelon  expresses  the  national 
feeling  with  regard  to  Charlemagne,  and  which  seem  to  me  particularly 
applicable : 

"Tout  nel  vos  sai  ne  preisier  ne  loer 
Que  plus  n'i  ad  d'onur  et  de  bontet. 
Sa  grand  valor  ki  purreit  acunter 
De  tel  barnage  I'ad  Deus  enluminet." 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  AND  PRESENT  STATUS  OF  ROMANIC 

DIALECTOLOGY 

John  Ernst  Matzke 

[President's  Address  read  before  the  Philological  Association  of  the  Pacific  Coast 

on  November  26,  1909.] 

THE  most  appropriate  point  of  departure  for  my  discussion  will  be 
the  meanings  of  the  words  language,  dialect  and  patois  as  they  are 
found  in  our  standard  dictionaries.  Language  is  defined  as  the 
speech  current  among  the  nation  as  a  whole  and  in  which  its  national 
literature  is  written.  Thus  we  have  in  the  Romanic  speech  territory 
French,  Italian,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  and  Roumanian,  all  of  which  are  the 
official  languages  of  political  units  and  serve  for  the  expression  of  a 
national  literature.  A  dialect  is  conceived  to  be  a  variation  of  such  an 
official  language,  current  in  a  region  or  province  forming  a  part  of  the 
larger  national  unit.  In  as  much  as  the  national  unit  is  made  up  of  an 
agglomeration  of  a  varying  number  of  smaller  political  units,  related 
thru  race  and  location,  any  given  language  will  have  a  varying  number 
of  dialects,  which  are  modes  of  speech  related  to  the  official  language, 
all  descending  from  the  same  common  original.  In  form  and  make  up 
these  dialects  differ  the  one  from  the  other,  tho  each  has  traits  common 
to  all,  so  that  their  close  affinity  can  not  be  doubted.  The  literary 
language  itself  was  originally  only  the  dialect,  in  this  acceptation  of  the 
term,  of  a  particular  region  to  which  favoring  circumstances  have  given 
vogue  and  general  acceptance.  Thus  we  have  the  dialect  of  the  He  de 
France  becoming  French,  that  of  the  Toscana  becoming  Italian,  and  that 
of  Castile  becoming  Spanish,  but  at  the  same  time  the  related  forms 
continue  to  live  and  we  may  distinguish  Norman,  Picard,  Burgundian 
and  other  such  dialects  in  France,  Andalusian,  Aragonese,  Leonese  in 
Spanish,  Lombard,  Venetian,  Piedmontese,  Sardinian  in  Italian. 

The  difficulty  brought  in  by  the  existence  of  the  Provengal  in  the 
South  of  France,  the  Catalan  in  Spain  and  the  Rhetian  in  the  Latin 
portion  of  Switzerland,  each  a  distinct  Romanic  language,  is  only 
an  apparent  one.  Here  we  have  forms  of  speech  extending  over  con- 
siderable areas,  whose  owners  were  not  successful  in  their  attempts 
to  establish  political  independence.  Their  territory  was  absorbed  by 
more  potent  neighbors,  but  their  love  of  independence  and  their  national 


22  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

consciousness  found  expression  in  a  literature  of  such  importance  that 
the  form  in  which  it  is  written  may  readily  be  called  a  language. 

A  patois  finally  is  looked  upon  as  a  subdivision  of  a  dialect  for 
similar  reasons  and  along  similar  lines,  as  the  dialect  is  a  subdivision  of 
language.    It  is  the  speech  current  in  a  smaller  district  or  a  village. 

The  important  feature  of  this  classification  of  speech  is  its  similarity 
to  the  recognized  divisions  in  natural  history.  The  dialect  in  the  domain 
of  language  is  the  species  in  the  animal  or  vegetable  kingdom,  while  the 
patois  resembles  the  smaller  sub-species.  Each  has  definite  traits  not 
found  in  any  other,  by  which  it  is  clearly  distinguished. 

The  correctness  or  incorrectness  of  this  conception  of  the  problems 
of  linguistic  history  was  apparently  not  questioned  in  the  early  decades 
of  the  existence  of  Romanic  Philology.  Diez  employed  the  terms  dialect 
and  language  in  the  manner  just  outlined.  It  was  only  in  1875,  when 
the  late  Italian  scholar  Ascoli  published  an  article  entitled  Schizzi 
Franco-provenzali  in  vol.  Ill  of  the  Archivio  Glottologico,  that  the 
current  definitions  of  these  terms  were  questioned.  In  this  article 
Ascoli  endeavored  to  set  off  a  dialect  group,  hitherto  not  recognized, 
lying  between  the  northernmost  Italian  dialects  and  the  French 
Bourgogne,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Franco-provenzale.  The 
territory  included  comprised  the  departments  of  Loire  and  Rhone  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  river  Rhone,  and  Ain,  Isere,  Savoie  and  Haute  Savoie 
on  its  left,  together  with  the  departments  of  Doubs,  Hte.  Saone  and 
Vosges  lying  to  the  north  of  this  region.  The  city  of  Lyons,  though 
quite  on  the  western  boundary  of  this  district,  may  be  looked  upon  as 
its  most  important  representative. 

The  linguistic  traits,  upon  which  this  new  division  and  classification 
was  based,  may  be  passed  over  in  silence  at  this  time.  Its  importance 
arises  from  the  fact  that  Ascoli  here  tried  to  outline  a  definite  speech 
boundary,  on  either  side  of  which  different  characteristics  prevailed,  in 
such  a  way  that  the  language  current  within  these  limits  clearly 
represented  a  speech  unit.  This  claim  precipitated  a  discussion 
concerning  the  nature  of  speech  phenomena,  and  dialects  and  the 
existence  of  speech  boundaries.  Its  argumentation  and  decisions  were 
decidedly  negative,  and  the  result  was  the  clearly  outlined  thesis  that 
dialects  and  patois  in  .the  usual  acceptation  of  these  terms  do  not  exist, 
and  that  speech-boundaries,  with  the  only  meaning  which  this  term  can 
have,  are  a  figment  of  the  imagination. 

The  first  to  answer  was  Paul  Meyer  in  Romania  IV,  pp.  294  ff. 
He  said  in  part  as  follows : — No  group  of  dialects,  no  matter  how  this 
group  might  be  constituted,  could   represent  a  speech-family,   for  the 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  23 

reason  that  the  dialect  (which  would  represent  the  species  in  this 
grouping)  itself  is  a  rather  arbitrary  conception  of  our  minds. — Let  us 
see  how  we  proceed  as  a  matter  of  fact  in  order  to  constitute  a  dialect. 
We  select  in  the  speech  of  any  given  district  a  certain  number  of 
phenomena  which  we  set  up  as  the  characteristics  of  the  speech  of  this 
district.  This  method  of  procedure  would  certainly  lead  to  the  establish- 
ment of  a  distinct  species  of  speech,  if  the  selection  of  these  character- 
istics were  not  perforce  largely  arbitrary.  The  various  linguistic 
phenomena  which  we  can  observe  in  any  region  do  not  coincide  with 
each  other  in  such  a  way  that  all  cover  geographically  the  same  area. 
They  cross  and  overlap  each  other  to  such  an  extent  that  one  would 
never  succeed  in  determining  any  dialectic  area  if  one  were  not  satisfied 
to  determine  it  arbitrarily.  Let  us  suppose  for  example  that  we  take 
as  a  characteristic  of  the  Picard  dialect  the  treatment  of  c  before  a. 
This  feature  would  furnish  a  passable  limitation  towards  the  South 
and  East,  but  toward  the  North  it  would  be  mediocre  unless  the  Picard 
is  extended  to  include  the  Flemish,  and  on  the  West  it  won't  do  at  all, 
since  it  extends  all  over  Normandy,  and  the  dialect  of  Normandy  is  of 
course  not  to  be  included  in  that  of  Picardy.  It  will  be  necessary 
therefore  to  select  some  other  characteristic,  which  is  present  only  in 
one  of  the  two  dialects  that  are  to  be  distinguished.  This  character- 
istic will  have  to  be  selected  arbitrarily  along  the  line  where,  according 
to  a  preconceived  idea,  the  boundary  must  lie.  Let  us  take  the  form  of 
the  imperfects  of  the  first  conjunction  in  -oe.  Yet  the  use  to  which  this 
trait  can  be  put  will  be  as  arbitrary  as  that  of  c  before  a.  We  shall  be 
forced  to  recognize  that  while  it  is  a  characteristic  of  Eastern  Norman, 
it  will  fail  us  on  the  West  because  there  it  extends  considerably  beyond 
the  confines  of  Normandy,  and  certainly  no  one  would  wish  to  call  the 
speech  of  Anjou  and  Poitou,  Norman.  There  is  no  other  method  of 
procedure,  and  it  must  be  arbitrary.  Our  conclusion  must  be  that  a 
dialect  is  an  artificial  rather  than  a  natural  species.  Any  definition  of 
the  word  is  a  deiinitio  nominis  and  not  a  definitio  rei.  Furthermore,  if 
a  dialect  as  such  can  not  be  determined,  it  is  clear  that  groups  of  dialects 
can  not  be  clearly  defined.  One  can  imagine  various  ways  of  grouping 
them,  each  of  these  based  upon  a  certain  selection  of  linguistic  phenomena, 
but  all  these  methods  will  be  forced  to  see  limits  where  in  fact  they  do 
not  exist.  The  traditional  classification,  followed  by  Diez  in  his 
Grammar,  has  the  advantage  of  coinciding,  at  least  in  general  outline, 
with  the  political  divisions  and  to  a  certain  degree  also  with  the  various 
literatures.  Its  evident  shortcomings  matter  little  if  the  terms  French, 
Provencal   or   Italian   dialects   are  taken   as   geographical   expressions. 


24  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

From  this  point  of  view  they  are  well  chosen — provided  those  who  make 
use  of  them  do  not  make  them  signify  more  than  they  permit.  ...  It  is 
very  important  in  this  matter,  as  in  many  others,  not  to  be  misled  by  the 
terminology  that  one  has  created  or  accepted. 

Ascoli  answered  (Arch.  Glott.  II,  385)  that  the  independence  of  a 
dialect  did  not  consist  in  the  presence  or  absence  of  a  certain  number 
of  phenomena  absent  or  present  elsewhere,  but  in  their  simultaneousness 
and  peculiar  combination.  But  P.  Meyer  replied  that  no  matter  how  one 
might  look  at  the  question,  actual  divisions  between  the  various  forms  of 
speech  in  the  Romanic  territory  do  not  exist.  The  speech  of  one  region 
passes  imperceptibly  into  that  of  the  adjoining  territory.  Lines  between 
them  can  only  be  drawn  by  methods  that  are  arbitrary  and  unscientific. 
When  the  problem  had  been  thus  clearly  stated,  the  discussion  soon 
became  more  general  and  other  scholars  participated.  Thomas  showed 
by  an  investigation  of  the  patois  of  the  department  de  la  Creuse  that 
speech  boundaries  within  this  territory  do  not  exist  and  that  all  that  the 
investigator  can  do  is  to  determine  the  limits  of  individual  phenomena, 
which  however  could  not  serve  to  describe  distinct  patois  or  dialects. 

A  few  years  later  (1882)  Joret  published  a  volume  entitled  Des 
caracteres  et  de  I' extension  du  patois  Normand,  in  which  he  pointed  out 
seven  traits  characteristic  of  the  speech  of  this  region,  with  the  purpose 
of  describing  by  them  the  dialect  of  Normandy.  This  monograph 
called  forth  a  most  lucid  and  fundamental  critique,  by  Gillieron,  now 
undoubtedly  the  most  famous  and  ablest  investigator  of  the  nature  of 
speech  variations,  in  which  it  was  clearly  shown  again  that  the  lines  of 
Joret's  seven  phenomena  do  not  coincide  and  that  consequently  Joret's 
results  could  not  be  accepted. 

This  constructive  discussion  received  its  capstone,  as  it  were,  in 
1888  in  an  address  delivered  by  Gaston  Paris  at  the  annual  meeting  of 
the  Socictcs  savant es  in  Paris.  Here  a  general  synthesis  of  the  problem 
was  given  and  at  the  same  time  the  method  to  be  followed  in  its  solution 
was  outlined. 

Speech  boundaries  as  such  do  not  exist,  except  where  an  insurmount- 
able physical  obstacle  breaks  the  continuity  of  habitation  or  where  peoples 
of  a  different  race  come  face  to  face.  Of  the  former  category  is  the 
Channel  between  England  and  France,  or  the  North  Sea  between  Ger- 
many and  Denmark ;  of  the  latter  are  the  boundaries  between  France  and 
Germany  or  Russia  and  China.  But  where  people  of  the  same  race  or 
descent  live  in  a  contiguous  area,  all  divisions  and  boundaries  are  arti- 
ficial and  are  based  upon  political  or  literary  considerations. 

If  we  could  imagine  a  line  of  people  touching  elbows  and  extending 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  25 

from  the  Pyrenees  to  the  Channel  or  from  the  Eastern  frontier  of  France 
to  the  ocean  on  the  West,  each  standing  on  his  native  soil  and  speaking  the 
language  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed  since  his  birth,  we  should  find 
that  thruout  the  whole  length  of  this  chain  each  would  understand  his 
neighbor  on  the  right  or  left,  while  he  might  find  strange  the  speech  of  an 
individual  some  distance  away.  Even  the  national  boundaries  would 
become  obliterated.  The  transition  from  France  thru  Latin  Switzerland 
into  Italy  or  across  the  Pyrenees  into  Spain  would  be  gradual,  and  within 
these  countries  the  phenomena  observed  in  France  would  be  repeated. 
The  investigator  of  speech  phenomena  must  first  dismiss  all  precon- 
ceived definitions  of  the  nature  of  dialects  and  patois.  He  must  in  the 
next  place  limit  his  field  of  observation.  Let  him  select  a  hamlet  or  a 
village,  rarely  a  group  of  villages,  and  within  these  limits  observe  all 
the  facts  that  may  be  present.  Each  community,  each  form,  each  sound, 
each  word  should  have  its  individual  investigation,  and  only  when  these 
minute  and  painstaking  observations  have  been  finished  with  all  the  rigor 
of  scientific  attitude  and  method,  will  the  time  for  synthesis  have  come. 

Now,  there  can  be  no  question  that  these  considerations  are  sound, 
but  on  the  other  hand  they  do  not  solve  all  the  questions  that  arise  in 
this  connection,  for  they  are  based  solely  on  the  present  conditions  of  the 
languages  and  they  leave  out  of  account  their  historical  development. 

These  historical  considerations  were  introduced  into  the  discussion 
of  the  problem  by  Grober  in  his  article  on  Die  romanischen  Sprachen, 
Ihre  Eintheilung  and  dussere  Geschichte  in  his  Grundriss  der  roman- 
ischen Philologie,  I,  pp.  415  ff.  Grober  saw  correctly  that  if  the  opinions 
of  Meyer,  Paris,  Gillieron  and  others  were  to  be  borne  out  by  the  facts 
of  the  history  and  growth  of  a  language,  it  would  be  necessary  that  this 
language  developed  or  spread  gradually  from  a  given  center,  until  it 
covered  the  whole  area  now  occupied  by  it. 

Now,  this  was  not  the  way  in  which  the  speech  of  Latium  became 
established  in  the  neo-latin  countries.  We  know  that  the  Folk-latin  from 
which  the  Romanic  languages  have  sprung  was  carried  to  its  new  home 
in  the  first  place  by  military  expeditions.  When  the  new  colony  was 
conquered,  the  language  was  left  there,  as  it  were,  transplanted  into  a 
new  soil,  to  live  its  own  life.  On  this  supposition  alone  can  we  explain 
why  the  speech  of  Sardinia,  the  oldest  of  Rome's  colonies,  shows  traits 
of  age  which  distinguish  it  sharply  from  the  younger  colonies  of  Rhetia 
and  Gaul.  Then  again  the  conditions  of  life  in  those  early  centuries, 
and  the  methods  of  conquest  and  colonization,  make  it  evident  that  the 
latinization  of  the  new  territory  did  not  extend  gradually  from  the 
frontier  inwards,  but  that  it  spread  from  various  centers,  established 


26  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

within  the  conquered  territory  and  selected  for  reasons  of  strategic  or 
commerical  importance.  Gaul  was  not  attacked  in  its  entirety,  but  in 
its  centers  and  strongholds,  around  which  the  existing  population  was 
grouped.  Whenever  such  a  stronghold  was  captured,  a  military  colony 
was  established  there  which  was  supplied  as  soon  as  possible  with 
merchants  and  mechanics  and  farmers,  who  settled  there  and  thus  laid 
the  foundations  of  new  commonwealths.  Now  it  is  from  these  centers, 
located  often  at  great  distances  from  each  other,  that  the  latinization  of 
Gaul  proceeded.  Their  number  it  is  easier  to  imagine  than  to  state, 
their  names  must  be  discovered  by  the  science  of  Historical  Geography. 
It  has  been  suggested  that  names  of  Celtic  origin  may  represent  some 
of  these,  while  the  newer  names  of  Germanic  or  Latin  origin  and  often 
formed  in  honor  of  Christian  saints  must  designate  younger  settlements. 

The  population  subjected  to  this  influence  was  not  a  homogeneous 
one.  There  were  different  tribes,  clustering  about  their  own  established 
centers  and  having  most  probably  each  its  own  peculiar  form  of  speech. 
Latin  had  therefore  to  contend  from  the  beginning  with  differing 
conditions. 

The  tendency  toward  variation  existing  here  was  increased  by  the 
conditions  of  civilization.  Extensive  forests  separated  centers  of  popula- 
tion by  large  and  uninhabitated  districts.  Roads  were  poor  and  travel 
limited.  An  occasional  merchant  going  into  a  different  community  was 
not  likely  to  change  the  habits  of  his  town  when  he  returned.  Commerce 
was  in  its  infancy.  Rights  of  citizenship  belonged  only  to  actual  members 
of  a  community  and  strangers  were  not  welcomed.  Marriages  from  one 
community  to  another  were  doubtless  rare.  In  Roumania  to  this  day 
in  certain  districts  the  individual  who  leaves  his  village  to  marry  in 
another  loses  caste.  Each  community  was  a  unit  by  itself  and  the  larger 
cities  were  walled  in  and  out  of  touch  with  the  surrounding  territory. 
But  it  was  precisely  from  these  larger  centers  of  population  that  the  new 
language  had  to  assert  its  influence,  and  before  the  lines  radiating  from 
one  such  nucleus  would  meet  with  those  emanating  from  another,  cen- 
turies might  pass,  and  dialects  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  term  might 
have  been  developed. 

Gradually  in  the  course  of  the  centuries  the  whole  area  of  the  country 
was  colonized  and  the  speech  boundaries  of  the  various  districts  came 
together.  But  their  contact  was  gradual,  and  in  its  process  differences 
of  one  kind  or  another  were  worn  away.  Certain  speech  phenomena  of 
one  region  found  points  of  least  resistance  in  the  language  of  its  neighbor, 
and  formed  entering  wedges  through  which  they  spread  beyond  their 
original  territory.    As  the  result  the  boundaries  overlap,  all  traces  of  the 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  27 

original  division  are  destroyed,  and  the  modern  student  of  dialects  can 
see  only  individual  speech  phenomena  but  no  dialects  in  the  proper  sense 
of  the  term. 

Systematic  utilization  of  these  considerations  has  not  been  very 
decided.  Before  Grober's  article  appeared,  Tourtoulon  and  Bringuier 
had  attempted  in  1876  to  establish  the  limit  between  the  French  and 
Provengal.  Its  publication  largely  prompted  the  establishment  of  the 
theory  of  dialects  discussed  in  the  earlier  portion  of  this  paper.  Other 
lines  of  demarcation  of  which  an  outline  has  been  attempted  lie  between 
the  Wallonian  and  Lorraine,  between  Burgundy  and  Franche  Comte, 
between  the  Catalan  and  Provenqal,  and  between  the  Provencal  and  the 
dialect  of  Piedmont.  None  of  these  have  met  a  favorable  reception. 
Two  later  titles,  however,  should  be  singled  out,  of  which  the  second 
is  particularly  important  because  it  attacks  the  problem  on  the  basis  of 
the  historical  conception  outlined  by  Grober.  The  first  of  these  was 
published  by  Simon  in  the  Melanges  Wallons  in  1892  on  the  subject  of  the 
boundary  between  the  Picard  and  Wallonian  in  Belgium.  Here  we 
meet  with  a  new  conception  of  the  term  'speech  boundary.'  The  limit 
between  the  two  dialects  is  described  not  as  a  sharp  and  definite  line  but 
as  a  zone  having  a  breadth  of  fifteen  kilometers  at  its  widest  point, 
within  which  the  boundaries  of  five  speech  phenomena  absent  or  present 
in  the  two  dialects  in  question  cross  and  overlap.  Gillieron  answered 
that  the  results  are  the  best  proof  of  the  accuracy  of  the  theory  which  the 
author  wished  to  overthrow,  but  on  the  other  hand  a  German  scholar, 
by  the  name  of  Horning,  an  undisputed  authority  in  dialect  investigations, 
accepted  it  in  an  article  "Ueber  Dialektgrenzen  im  Romanischen"  (publ. 
1893)  Z.  f.  rom.  Phil.  XVH,  pp.  160  ff.,  and  tried  to  show  in  an  exceeding- 
ly thoughtful  and  scholarly  discussion  of  the  whole  problem,  that  speech 
boundaries  in  the  nature  of  things  must  be  just  such  zones,  as  Simon 
had  found  in  the  district  which  he  had  studied. 

Since  then  the  theoretical  discussion  of  the  problem  has  rested,  and 
the  final  answer  to  the  question  is  left  to  the  future.  But  the  investiga- 
tion of  the  variations  of  speech  in  the  Romanic  territory  has  gone  on 
apace  and  important  contributions  to  dialectology  have  been  published. 
The  investigation  has  been  particularly  systematic  in  France,  due  to  the 
untiring  energy  of  Gillieron,  without  question  one  of  the  keenest  of 
modern  dialectologists. 

In  response  to  the  suggestions  contained  in  the  address  of  Gaston 
Paris,  cited  in  the  earlier  part  of  this  paper,  Gillieron  conceived  the  idea 
of  the  publication  of  an  atlas,  devoted  to  the  forms  of  speech  current 
within  the  political  boundaries  of  France,  and  giving  an  accurate  picture 


28  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

of  present  conditions.  The  plan  was  gigantic  and  the  difficulties  almost 
insuperable,  but  Gillieron  has  been  able  to  meet  them ;  and  the  Atlas,  now 
in  course  of  publication,  when  completed  will  form  a  lasting  monument 
of  scholarship  and  patient  devotion.  In  a  work  of  such  magnitude  it 
is  impossible  within  a  single  lifetime  to  achieve  completeness  in  all  details. 
But  what  it  was  necessary  to  exclude  in  quantity  and  minuteness  of 
detail  is  compensated  by  the  keenness  of  perception,  and  the  accurate 
knowledge  of  dialect  problems.  Gillieron  was  not  a  novice  in  such 
investigations.  Beginning  with  the  study  of  his  native  speech  in  Latin 
Switzerland,  he  had  gradually  extended  his  observation  to  the  rest  of 
France,  and  became  an  undisputed  authority  in  questions  of  this  kind. 

Several  things  he  saw  clearly  when  he  outlined  the  plans  for  the 
collection  of  the  material  for  the  speech  atlas:  (i)  That  it  would  be 
impossible  to  visit  and  investigate  the  speech  of  every  village  or  hamlet 
in  France.  (2)  That  only  salient  features  of  the  speech  of  the  localities 
included  could  be  represented  in  the  Atlas.  (3)  That  the  gathering  of 
the  material,  if  the  result  is  to  be  uniform,  must  be  undertaken  by  the 
same  individual,  who  must  be  trained  especially  for  that  particular 
purpose. 

The  first  problem  was  to  outline  the  plan  of  the  work  geographically. 
Since  it  was  impossible  to  visit  the  thirty-seven  thousand  villages  and 
cities  in  France,  it  became  necessary  to  select  according  to  a  definite  plan. 
Concentric  circles  to  the  number  of  ten  were  therefore  drawn  on  a  map 
of  France  about  a  point  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  center,  and  these 
were  divided  into  ten  equal  sections  by  drawing  five  radiating  diameters 
at  equal  distances  through  the  center  to  the  outermost  circle.  Each  of 
the  ten  equal  sections  thus  obtained  was  given  a  definite  numbering, 
the  first  from  one  to  one  hundred,  the  second  from  one  hundred  to  two 
hundred  and  so  on,  so  that  in  all  a  first  choice  of  one  thousand  villages 
or  hamlets  was  thus  agreed  upon.  Each  of  those  selected  received  its 
number,  starting  from  the  center.  The  section  holding  the  numbers  from 
one  to  one  hundred  contains  those  from  one  to  ten  within  the  first  circle, 
those  from  ten  to  twenty  in  the  second,  those  from  ninety  to  a  hundred  in 
the  tenth  circle.  When  this  general  outline  was  complete  a  further  and 
final  selection  of  six  hundred  and  ninety-three  out  of  the  possible  thousand 
towns  and  villages  was  decided  upon  as  the  places  to  which  the  investiga- 
tion should  be  limited,  and  here  the  judgment  of  Gillieron  was  naturally 
the  all  important  element.  The  places  thus  selected  were  in  the  next 
place  entered  upon  a  blank  map  of  France  not  by  their  names  but  by 
their  numbers,  since  the  orthography  of  the  name  would,  or  might, 
interfere  with  the  linguistic  trait  which  each  map  is  intended  to  illustrate. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  29 

The  purpose  of  the  Atlas  being  to  furnish  speech  maps,  the  more  imper- 
sonal the  map  itself  can  be  made,  the  more  definite  will  the  phenomena  in 
question  stand  out. 

The  material  to  be  utilized  in  the  investigation  in  the  next  place  was 
supplied  by  Gillieron  himself.  His  previous  studies  in  this  line  made  it 
possible  for  him  to  construct  a  questionary  calculated  to  set  off  the  form 
of  language  in  any  one  of  the  six  hundred  and  ninety-three  centers  to  be 
investigated.  Three  types  of  questions  were  included  in  this  list:  (i) 
Isolated  words,  whose  pronunciation  would  establish  the  laws  of  phonetic 
development.  (2)  Words  known  to  vary  as  to  form  or  suffix  in  different 
parts  of  France  and  capable  therefore  of  showing  the  variation  of  the 
popular  vocabulary.  (3)  Simple  phrases  illustrating  morphological  and 
syntactical  habits.  The  items  included  in  these  various  categories  are 
by  no  means  complete ;  indeed,  Gillieron  himself  was  the  first  to  recognize 
this  fact  (he  calls  the  Atlas  une  modest e  ebauche,  "a  modest  sketch") 
and  in  the  course  of  the  investigation  he  proceeded  to  enlarge  the  scope 
of  the  questions,  particularly  with  refernce  to  the  second  of  the  three 
categories  just  enumerated.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  such  investigations 
that  the  wisest  judgment  follows  the  completion  of  the  work,  and  if 
Gillieron  were  to  begin  anew,  no  doubt  many  new  points  of  investigation 
would  be  added,  and  the  accumulated  information  would  be  largely 
increased.  However  these  omissions  do  not  detract  in  the  least  from 
the  value  of  what  the  Atlas  actually  brings.  As  it  stands  it  is  a  veritable 
mine  of  information  for  speech  variation  in  France,  and  the  accretions 
to  our  knowledge  of  speech  already  gained  from  it  are  merely  a  promise 
of  what  we  shall  obtain  in  the  future. 

While  Gillieron  planned  and  directed  the  work,  the  actual  labor  of 
carrying  it  out  was  accomplished  by  his  colaborer  Edmond,  a  man 
endowed  with  remarkable  qualities  of  observation  and  an  ear  keen  to 
detect  the  slightest  variations  in  sound.  The  labor  of  collecting  this 
vast  material  in  the  whole  of  France  occupied  four  years,  during  which 
M.  Edmond  travelled  with  note-book  in  hand  from  one  place  to  another, 
singling  out  the  person  or  persons  calculated  to  furnish  the  desired 
information  most  accurately,  and  as  soon  as  this  work  was  accomplished, 
another  was  begun.  With  reference  to  the  method  of  procedure,  several 
features  should  be  especially  emphasized,  (i)  The  itinerary  of  M.  Ed- 
mond was  carefully  planned  and  arranged  so  as  to  neutralize  the  effects  of 
pre-conceived  notions  or  impressions  of  speech  variation.  The  line  of 
travel  represents  a  zig-zag  across  France,  so  that  often  months  passed 
before  he  reappeared  in  the  proximity  of  a  region  already  examined. 
(2)  The  material  gathered  was  immediately  dispatched  to  headquarters. 


30  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

SO  that  all  temptation  to  compare  the  new  with  the  old  was  made 
impossible.  (3)  The  answers  were  noted  in  a  uniform  phonetic 
transcription,  and  for  any  given  locality  they  represent,  as  it  were,  a 
snapshot  photograph  of  the  condition  of  the  language,  and  these  photo- 
graphs were  not  worked  up  or  corrected.  They  represent  the 
instantaneous  impression  of  a  skilled  observer.  Their  evident  cohesion 
when  put  together  to  picture  the  language  of  the  country  as  a  whole 
is  the  best  guarantee  of  the  accuracy  of  method  and  observation,  but 
Gillieron  is  emphatic  in  his  statement  that  the  faults  which  the  maps 
may  contain  (perfection  in  a  work  of  this  nature  is  doubly  impossible) 
are  not  due  to  critical  revision  of  the  material,  nor  to  the  insinuating 
influence  which  the  impressions  gained  in  one  locality  might  have  in 
forming  those  sought  in  another. 

The  work  of  publishing  this  tremendous  undertaking  has  proceeded 
without  interruption  since  its  beginning.  Thirty-three  fascicules,  each 
containing  fifty  maps  thus  aggregating  sixteen  hundred  and  fifty  in  all 
have  been  published  thus  far,  and  the  end  is  in  sight.  Thirty-five 
fascicules  will  complete  the  work  as  planned. 

Each  of  these  maps  gives  a  picture  of  a  single  phenomenon  of 
language,  in  phonology  or  morphology  or  syntax,  or  semasiology,  and 
often  the  latter  are  the  most  important  and  illuminating.  The  work  of 
exploiting  the  material  given  in  them  has  already  begun,  and  it  will  be 
interesting  to  outline  the  method  followed  and  the  results  obtained  in 
some  of  these  studies.  Their  publication  has  imposed  a  new  task  upon 
the  editors  of  linguistic  journals,  in  as  much  as  they  are  usually  accom- 
panied by  maps  showing  by  colored  areas  the  extent  and  relation  of  the 
phenomena  under  investigation. 

The  problems  taken  up  in  these  studies  are  among  the  most  funda- 
mental, and  as  a  matter  of  fact  take  up  the  whole  difficult  question  of 
the  transformation  of  Latin  into  the  modern  neo-latin  speech  forms 
from  a  new  and  larger  point  of  view.  It  is  the  geography  of  speech 
phenomena  and  its  relation  to  the  history  of  neo-latin  colonization  and 
civilization  which  has  come  into  the  foreground.  And  the  most  suggest- 
ive work  along  this  line,  because  it  opens  up  the  largest  vistas  and 
because  it  is  truly  creative,  is  that  of  Gillieron  himself,  published  in  con- 
nection with  Roques,  one  of  the  very  keenest  of  the  younger  Romanic 
scholars  in  Paris. 

To  understand  the  fundamental  nature  of  this  work  it  is  imperative 
to  outline  briefly  what  would  appear  to  be  the  natural  conception  of  the 
growth  of  Romanic  speech  forms,  and  which  as  a  matter  of  fact  has 
determined  and  largely  continues  to  determine  the  general  attitude  of  all 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  31 

Students  of  Romanic  dialectology.  If  we  think  of  Latin  as  a  natural 
organism  transplanted  from  its  native  habitat  into  a  new  surrounding 
and  there  left  to  develop  unhampered  along  the  line  prescribed  by  its 
inherent  tendencies  and  the  new  influences  to  which  it  was  subjected,  it 
follows  that  we  ought  to  be  able  to  outline  the  particular  life  history  of 
any  patois  from  its  present  form  back  to  the  moment  when  the  Latin 
settlers  occupied  the  place,  provided  we  are  able  to  collect  the  material 
which  will  allow  us  to  construct  this  history.  In  other  words,  the  speech 
of  any  given  locality  should  represent  in  uninterrupted  and  gradual 
alteration  the  Latin  that  was  brought  to  it. 

In  order  to  outline  the  answer  which  Gillieron  and  Roques  give  to 
this  assertion,  we  shall  outline  briefly  two  of  their  studies  published 
within  recent  years.     Both  appeared  in  the  Revue  de  phililogie  frangaise. 
The  first,  which  may  be  found  in  vol.  XX,  pp.  ii8  ff,  bears  the  suggestive 
title  of  Mirages  plioncfiqttes.     The  mirage  which  is  studied  is  the  con- 
tinuity of  phonetic  transmission.     The  particular  will-o-the-wisp  which 
is  to  be  captured  in  the  development  of  Latin  cl  and  //  in  forty  patois 
geographically  and  socially  related,  and  nine  vocables,  representing  as 
many  maps,  are  studied.     Of  these  words  six    (clarinette,  clarte,  cle, 
cloches,  clou,  clouer)  show  cl,  and  three  (fleurs,  flamme,  fleau)  contain  //. 
In  the  former  group  elarinette  is,  in  a  way,  the  pivot  of  the  argument. 
The  word  must  be  of  recent  origin,  and  its  introduction  can  not  antedate 
the  construction  of  the  instrument  which  it  describes ;  in  the  latter,  fleau 
occupies   a    similar   position   of   importance.      At   first    sight   the    word 
should  be  as  old  as  the  object  for  which  it  stands  and  the  agricultural 
event  of  regular  occurrence  for  which  the  object  is  needed.     However 
thrashing  with  a  flail,  i.e.,  an  object  consisting  of  a  handle,  to  the  end  of 
which  a  stouter  piece  of  wood  is  attached  so  as  to  swing  freely,  is  not  the 
method  used  everywhere  for  this  purpose.     In  some  districts  a  simple 
stick  is  used,  in  others  still  other  methods  are  followed ;  fleau  often  means 
not  the  whole  instrument  but  only  the  articulated  end.     In  its  present 
meaning  fleau  is  therefore  not  unlike  clarinette  as  far  as  its  history  in 
any  given  locality  is  concerned.     Now  it  is  well  known  that  cl  and  fl  in 
their  history  coincide.    They  develop  into  kl  fl,  ky  fy,  >  f/  >  fy  >  sy. 
If  phonetic  processes  are  as  consistent  as  we  imagine  them  to  be,  and 
if  the  lines  of  transmission  from  the  Latin  to  the  modern  forms  are 
unbroken,  we  might  expect  to  find  variations  of  sounds  as  we  pass  from 
one  patois  to  another,  but  within  the  same  patois  the  words  of  the  same 
category  should  all  show  the  same  form,  only  clarinette  and  fleau  might 
stand  apart,  since  they  were  accepted  at  later  periods.     Now  a  study  of 
the  words  shows  no  such  regularity — in  fact  the  only  thing  that  can  be 


32  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

observed  is  absolute  confusion.  A  few  patois  have  uniformity  of  all  the 
words  at  one  stage  or  another  of  the  phonetic  sequence.  If  clarinette  or 
flean  stood  aloof,  the  trust  in  the  absoluteness  of  phonetic  law  would  be 
conserved,  but  since  uniformity  draws  along  words  that  should  show 
different  treatment,  it  is  evident  that  the  result  is  artificial.  If  clearly 
recent  words  may  disguise  their  age,  there  is  no  guarantee  that  the  form 
of  older  words  is  any  more  indigenous  to  the  locality  where  they  are 
found.  Furthermore  this  apparent  regularity  is  decidedly  the  exception 
in  the  patois  studied.  Only  eight  of  the  forty  show  it.  In  the  remaining 
thirty-two  we  meet  irregularity  of  varying  degree,  sometimes  one, 
sometimes  two  or  more  words  depart  from  the  rest.  We  may  find  our 
words  falling  into  two  or  three  groups,  or  again  a  single  word  may  exist 
in  two  forms  of  which  one  will  be  felt  to  be  older  than  the  other.  The 
only  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  this  confusion  is  the  one  suggested  by 
the  title.  Phonetic  regularity  and  continuity  of  transmission  is  a  mirage. 
The  patois  studied  have  borrowed  for  the  words  in  question  one  from  the 
other,  or  rather  the  words  have  migrated  and  spread  and  not  one  of  them 
can  be  said  to  represent  for  its  present  form  and  habitat  an  unbroken  line 
of  transmission  since  the  Latin  invasion.  It  follows  that  if  this  conclusion 
must  be  accepted  in  one  category  it  may  be  equally  true  in  others,  where 
similar  crossing  and  confusion  prevails.  And  since  this  is  the  case  every- 
where, we  have  no  guarantee  that  even  the  simplest  vocables  or  phenom- 
ena in  any  given  village  or  patois  are  actually  indigenous  to  that  locality. 
The  second  of  the  studies  referred  to  {Rev.  de  phil.  fr.  XXII  268) 
attacks  more  particularly  the  problem  of  the  spread  of  a  single 
phenomenon.  It  is  based  upon  the  forms  of  the  names  of  the  days  of  the 
week,  comprising  seven  maps.  These  names  are  composed  of  two 
elements,  the  substantive  dies  and  the  name  of  a  planet  in  the  genitive 
depending  upon  it:  dies  Lunae,  Martis,  Mercurii.  Taking  dies  Martis 
as  a  type,  three  forms  correspond  to  it  within  the  limits  of  France :  mardi 
in  the  North,  dimars  and  mars  in  the  South,  which  pass  gradually  over 
into  Spanish  martes,  but  separate  the  Italian  martedl  from  its  close 
French  parallel  mardi.  The  usual  explanation  has  been  to  posit  three 
Latin  types,  martis  dies,  dies  martis  and  martis  as  points  of  departure  for 
the  modern  forms.  However,  the  study  in  question  shows  that  this 
position  is  clearly  a  begging  of  the  question.  Latin  knew  only  one 
formula,  Martis  dies  from  which  the  French  and  Italian  spring  directly. 
Dimars  is  due  to  a  Romanic  rearrangement  of  the  two  elements  in  the 
word,  due  to  Romanic  principles  of  syntax,  which  tends  to  place  the 
principal  idea  before  the  one  which  it  governs.  This  change  of  position 
could,  however,  be  effected  only  where  di  lived  independently  with  the 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  33 

meaning  of  day,  which  is  true  of  Provengal  and  Spanish  but  not  in 
French  and  ItaHan,  where  this  idea  is  expressed  by  jour  and  giorno.  For 
the  same  reason  di  might  also  drop  out  altogether,  leaving  mars  and 
Spanish  martes. 

The  article  then  takes  up  the  study  of  the  s,  which  has  disappeared 
in  French  mardi,  but  is  present  in  dimars  and  martes.  The  O.  Fr.  knew 
marsdi  with  s,  but  its  position  between  consonants  gave  it  little  resistance 
and  it  dropped  early.  In  the  South,  however,  the  ^  has  lived  and  even 
spread  to  those  names  where  it  was  originally  absent,  as  dies  lunae  =  d% 
limes.  However,  this  letter  is  not  present  everywhere  to  the  same  extent. 
While  there  is  a  considerable  area  in  the  extreme  South  where  it  is 
present,  there  are  smaller  areas  on  the  northern  border  of  this  territory, 
where  this  s  is  present  in  some  of  the  names  in  question,  but  not  in  all,  and 
these  names  are  not  the  same  in  all  localities ;  and  there  follows  a  con- 
siderable zone  lying  still  further  north  where  the  southern  order  of 
elements  (di-mar)  is  maintained,  but  where  the  s  has  uniformly  dropped, 
as  in  the  large  northern  area,  where  the  order  of  elements  is  reversed, 
as  shown  in  mardi.  The  conclusion  is  that  the  influence  of  the  northern 
type  mardi  is  gradually  spreading  and  pressing  southward.  Its  present 
extent  is  larger  than  it  was  formerly,  for  dimars  is  found  in  Old  French 
and  there  is  at  least  one  remnant  of  this  type  preserved  to  this  day  in 
a  village  in  the  extreme  north  near  Liege.  But  with  this  single  exception 
this  type  has  given  way  in  the  North  to  the  form  mardi,  which  we  can 
see  crowding  toward  the  South  at  the  present  time.  The  point  of  least 
resistance  is  the  old  genitive  s.  This  has  already  disappeared  in  the  large 
zone  just  described  and  it  shows  great  weakness  and  vacillation  in  the 
districts  bordering  upon  that  zone  on  the  south.  In  all  probability  these 
districts  will  drop  it  as  the  zone  on  the  north  has  already  done,  and  the 
existence  of  the  southern  type  will  be  still  further  increased. 

It  seemed  of  interest  to  analyze  this  study  thus  in  detail,  for  it 
illustrates  the  kind  of  problems  which  the  publication  of  Gillieron's  Atlas 
has  called  forth  and  the  method  which  must  be  applied  to  their  solution. 
These  studies  are  in  the  first  place  concerned  with  linguistic  geography, 
and  the  ultimate  result  of  this  new  line  of  investigation  can  at  present 
not  be  foreseen.  This  much,  however,  is  evident,  that  these  studies  are 
vital  in  importance  and  that  they  are  likely  to  overturn  some  of  the 
theories  which  at  present  appear  to  be  fundamental  in  Romanic  Philology. 

The  bearing  of  these  investigations  upon  the  question  outlined  in  an 
earlier  part  of  this  discussion  concerning  the  nature  and  definition  of 
dialects  is  not  entirely  definite.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  dialects  in  the 
older  sense  of  the  word  do  not  exist  at  present.     We  can  discern  only 


34  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

areas  of  individual  phenomena.  But  this  does  not  prove  that  speech- 
boundaries  in  the  larger  sense  have  not  been  obliterated  in  the  course  of 
centuries  by  the  gradual  spread  of  individual  linguistic  phenomena.  To 
find  the  answer  to  this  question  another  method  must  be  followed  and 
evidence  of  another  kind  must  be  gathered.  The  history  of  Latin 
colonization  must  be  investigated  in  detail  for  the  purpose  of  discovering, 
if  possible,  the  various  centers  from  which  the  latinizing  influence  spread 
over  the  Romanic  territory  and  the  lines  of  least  resistance  along  which 
it  moved.  The  need  of  this  study  has  already  been  clearly  seen,  and  its 
possibilities  and  importance  for  the  furtherance  of  dialect  investigations 
were  pointed  out  by  Morf  in  an  address  delivered  in  August  of  the  year 
1908  before  the  fourth  section  of  the  International  Congress  of  the 
Historical  Sciences  (Bull,  de  Dialectologie  Romane  I,  1-17)  held  in 
Berlin.  Time  does  not  permit  us  to  analyze  this  most  suggestive  study. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  author  clearly  sees  the  new  direction  which 
Romanic  dialectology  has  taken,  and  that  he  makes  it  evident  that  the 
study  of  the  future  will  have  to  take  into  account  much  more  than  has 
been  done  in  the  past  the  geography  of  the  neo-latin  countries,  commercial 
and  physical  and  political,  of  the  period  during  which  the  conquest  took 
place.  Without  question  its  spread  was  gradual  and  the  language  found 
its  easiest  progress  along  the  roads  which  joined  the  various  centers  of 
commercial  and  political  prominence.  If  it  is  possible  to  discover  the 
evidences  of  its  gradual  growth  at  all,  they  should  be  found  along  these 
arteries  through  which  the  new  national  life  began  to  flow. 

Thus  far  in  this  discussion  the  attention  has  been  centered  upon  the 
development  of  dialect  studies  in  France,  but  the  other  Latin  countries 
have  received  similar  attention.  Lender  the  direction  of  Ascoli  the  speech 
forms  of  Northern  Italy  have  for  years  been  receiving  systematic  atten- 
tion, and  the  results  of  this  study  have  been  collected  and  published  in  the 
Archivio  Glottologico,  which  has  thus  become  a  mine  of  dialect  informa- 
tion. The  Latin  portions  of  Switzerland  have  been  similarly  worked  over, 
and  the  dialects  of  Italy,  Spain  and  Roumania  have  not  been  neglected. 
But  much  remains  still  to  be  done,  and  the  publication  of  Gillieron's 
Atlas  has  made  it  clear  that  the  essential  problems  of  the  growth  of  speech 
must  be  studied  collectively  and  that  there  is  grave  danger  that  the 
necessary  material  for  this  study  will  disappear,  unless  concerted  action 
can  take  steps  to  preserve  it.  The  uncultured  and  native  forms  of  speech 
are  losing  ground  every  day  before  the  inroads  of  the  schools  and  the 
literary  language.  Irretrievable  damage  has  already  been  wrought,  but 
much  valuable  material  still  remains  accessible,  provided  an  immediate 
effort  is  made  to  collect  it.     Thus  the  influence  of  the  French  school  of 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  ROMANIC  DIALECTOLOGY  —  MATZKE  35 

dialectology  has  been  vital  and  productive,  and  there  is  evidence  of  a 
renewed  enthusiasm  and  great  vitality  in  this  fundamentl  division  of 
linguistic  research. 

A  dialect  atlas  has  been  published  for  Switzerland  by  Gauchat,  and 
another  for  Roumania  by  Weigand,  and  dialect  studies  fill  the  pages 
of  our  scientific  magazines.  The  most  important  development,  however, 
for  the  systematic  exploitation  of  this  subject  is  the  formation  of  the 
International  Society  of  Romanic  Dialectology  accomplished  during  the 
year  1908,  which  has  just  begun  to  publish  its  studies  in  the  Revue  de 
Dialectologie  Roniane  (since  January,  1909),  devoted  to  longer  articles, 
and  the  Bulletin  de  Dialectologie  Romane,  in  which  society,  information, 
bibliography  and  matters  of  more  general  interest  are  systematically 
collected.  The  address  of  Morf  already  referred  to  opens  the  Bulletin, 
and  thus  lays  down,  as  it  were,  the  method  to  be  followed  in  the  work  of 
the  new  Society. 

Its  organization  is  ambitious  and  unique.  The  plan  was  conceived, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  by  two  young  dialectologists,  Schadel,  a  young 
German  scholar,  and  Saroihandy,  a  Frenchman,  who  met  in  the  Pyrenees, 
both  intent  upon  the  study  of  the  Patois  spoken  upon  the  slopes  of  this 
mountain  chain.  Impressed  with  the  fact  that  the  dialects  are  rapidly 
disappearing,  they  conceived  the  idea  of  organizing  a  large  society,  whose 
object  it  should  be  to  preserve  as  much  of  this  material  as  is  still  available, 
and  conscious  of  the  fundamental  importance  of  this  study  they  resolved 
to  organize  this  study  wherever  Latin  in  any  modern  form  lives  as  the 
spoken  language. 

The  circular  which  they  sent  out  in  1907  said  in  part  as  follows : 

"The  popular  speech  of  the  neo-latin  countries  is  in  many  districts 
on  the  point  of  disappearing  before  the  overpowering  influence  of  the 
official  language,  and  it  is  high  time  to  gather  and  study  them  on  the 
basis  of  phonetics  and  the  principles  of  modern  linguistic  science  .  .  . 
Much  work  has  already  been  done,  but  if  a  great  portion  of  these  speech 
forms  are  to  be  preserved  from  absolute  oblivion,  if  the  wealth  of  their 
sounds  and  forms,  their  modes  of  expression  and  vocabulary  are  to  be 
utiHzed  for  the  scientific  study  of  language,  there  is  much  that  still  remains 
untouched  .  .  .  Here  the  duty  of  the  new  International  Society  of 
Romanic  Dialectology  begins  .  .  .  But  the  magnitude  of  the  work 
surpasses  the  strength  of  any  small  group  of  philologians  and  dialectolo- 
gists. The  interest  and  support  of  all  friends  of  art.  language  and 
civilization  must  be  enlisted,  of  governments  and  local  authorities  and 
of  the  benefactors  of  science,  and  that  wherever  a  Romanic  language 
is  spoken  from  Spanish  America  to  Roumania,  from  the  Mediterranean 
to  Canada  ..." 


36  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

The  response  to  this  call  surpassed  all  expectations.  By  January 
1909  two  hundred  and  seven  favorable  answers  had  been  received,  and 
the  plan  of  the  Society  could  be  definitely  outlined.  A  general  division  of 
seventeen  sections  was  made,  representing  as  many  countries — each  under 
the  direction  of  a  scholar  known  for  his  interest  in  dialectic  investigations. 
Thus  Italy  is  under  the  supervision  of  Salvioni,  Switzerland  under  that 
of  Gauchat,  Roques  directs  the  studies  in  France,  Menendez-Pidal  those 
in  Spain,  Leite  de  Vasconcellos  those  in  Portugal,  Schadel  those  in 
Germany,  and  Geddes,  well  known  for  his  investigations  in  Canadian 
French,  those  in  America.  The  list  is  not  yet  complete,  and  additions 
will  shortly  be  announced  for  Spanish  America,  which  is  so  far  not 
represented  at  all,  and  other  regions  that  might  offer  similar  interest. 
The  general  direction  of  the  society  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Secretary, 
Schadel  Privat  docent  at  the  University  of  Halle,  the  publications  already 
cited  are  printed  in  Brussels,  and  no  restrictions  are  prescribed  as  to  the 
language  in  which  the  contributions  must  be  written.  All  the  Romanic 
languages,  together  with  German  and  English,  will  be  admitted. 

The  new  Revue  will  thus  become  without  question  one  of  the  most 
important  of  our  Romanic  periodicals.  The  numbers  that  have  appeared 
so  far  are  dignified  and  scholarly,  and  promise  well  for  the  future.  But 
it  is  with  considerable  pride  that  we  can  point  to  the  fact  that  one  of  the 
first  articles  in  the  series  was  written  in  America.  It  is  a  study  of  New 
Mexican  Spanish  by  Espinosa,  Professor  in  the  University  of  New 
Mexico. 

My  outline  of  the  present  status  of  Romanic  dialectology  may  stop 
here.  Though  undoubtedly  the  most  important  division  of  pure 
linguistics,  it  is  also  the  most  difficult.  Situation,  attitude  and  training 
are  indispensable  elements  in  the  make  up  of  the  successful  investigator, 
and  most  of  us  are  destined  to  sit  by  and  watch  the  work  that  is  carried 
on  by  others.  But  there  is  no  question  that  a  new  era  has  dawned  for 
Romanic  dialectology,  and  we  may  confidently  expect  important  results 
in  the  future. 


PURGATORIO   XI 

THE   LORD'S   PRAYER 

(Translated  by  Melville  B.  Anderson) 

OUR  Father,  Thou  who  dwellest  high  in  Heaven, 
Not  circumscrib'd,  but  by  the  love  immense 
That  to  Thy  first  creation  Thou  hast  given, 

Prais'd  be  Thy  name  and  Thy  omnipotence 
By  all  created  beings,  emulous 
To  render  thanks  to  Thy  sweet  effluence. 

O  let  Thy  Kingdom's  peace  descend  on  us. 
For  with  all  reach  of  soul  that  in  us  lies, 
We  cannot  win   it,  if  it  come  not  thus. 

As  Thine  own  holy  angels  sacrifice 

Their  will  to  Thee,  while  they  Hosanna  sing, 
So  let  men  do  with  penitential  sighs. 

This  day  to  us  our  daily  manna  bring. 

For  in  this  desert  rough,  in  utter  dearth, 
We  backward  go  when  most  endeavoring. 

As  we  forgive  to  everyone  on  earth 

The  wrongs  we  bore,  so  graciously  do  Thou 
Forgive,  and  do  not  look  upon  our  worth. 

Put  not  to  proof  before  our  ancient  foe 
Our  power  of  will,  so  easily  undone. 
But  liberate  from  him  who  spurs  it  so. 

We  make,  dear  Lord,  this  final  orison 

Not  for  ourselves,  because  there  is  no  need, 
But  all  for  dear  ones  left  behind  us  yon." 

Beseeching  for  themselves  and  us  good  speed. 
Those  weary  shadows  thus  pursued  their  way 
'Neath  loads  like  those  which  oft  from  dreams  proceed. 

And  under  divers  burdens  stagger'd  they 

All  round  that  foremost  cornice  of  the  hill, 
Purging  the  soilure  of  the  world  away. 

If  good  for  us  be  spoken  yonder  still, 

What  may  be  done  and  said  for  them  down  here 
By  those  who  have  a  good  root  to  their  will  ? 

Surely  we  ought  to  give  them  aid  to  clear 

The  stains  they  carried  hence,  that  pure  and  light 
They  issue  forth  upon  the  starry  sphere. 


THE    DOCTRINE    OF    VERISIMILITUDE    IN    FRENCH    AND 

ENGLISH    CRITICISM    OF    THE    SEVENTEENTH 

CENTURY 

Raymond  Macdonald  Alden 

THK  doctrine  of  poetry  in  the  Renaissance  and  the  succeeding  neo- 
classical period  might  be  briefly  described  as  the  extension  and 
application  of  Aristotle's  doctrine  of  the  imitative  and  yet  ideal 
nature  of  art.  How  the  poet  may  at  once  remain  true  to  the  facts  of 
experience  and  to  those  larger  truths  by  fidelity  to  which  he  transcends  the 
work  of  the  historian, — this  was  the  great  problem  of  the  Poetics,  and  it 
is  that  which  still  lives  in  the  most  recent  contentions  respecting  the  limits 
of  realism  and  of  romance.  In  the  neo-classical  period  one  of  the  most 
influential  of  the  doctrines  which  was  developed  in  the  attempt  to  solve  the 
problem  was  that  of  vraisemblance  or  verisimilitude.  It  is  the  purpose  of 
this  paper  to  show  something  of  the  origins  and  applications  of  this  dogma 
in  the  seventeenth  century.  It  has  often  been  referred  to  by  those  who 
have  made  excursions  into  the  history  of  criticism,  but  usually  with  much 
more  of  scorn  for  its  unhappy  application  to  particular  poets  than  with 
a  sincere  effort  to  understand  it  from  the  standpoint  of  the  age  of 
formalism. 

The  sources  of  the  doctrine  are  found  in  three  familiar  passages  in 
Aristotle,  in  the  ninth,  fifteenth,  and  twenty-fifth  chapters  of  the  Poetics. 

"It  is  not  the  function  of  the  poet  to  relate  what  has  happened,  but 
what  may  happen, — what  is  possible  according  to  the  law  of  probability 
or  necessity.  ...  By  the  universal  I  mean  how  a  person  of  given 
character  will  on  occasion  speak  or  act,  according  to  the  law  of  probability 
or  necessity ;  and  it  is  this  universality  at  which  poetry  aims  in  the  names 
she  attached  to  the  personages." 

"In  respect  of  character  .  .  .  the  second  thing  to  aim  at  is  propriety. 
There  is  a  type  of  manly  valor ;  but  for  a  woman  to  be  valiant  or  terrible 
would  be  inappropriate.  ...  As  in  the  structure  of  the  plot,  so  too  in 
the  portraiture  of  character,  the  poet  should  always  aim  either  at  the 
necessary  or  the  probable.  Thus  a  person  of  a  given  character  should 
speak  or  act  in  a  given  way,  by  the  rule  either  of  necessity  or  of 
probability,  just  as  this  event  should  follow  that  by  necessary  or  probable 
sequence." 

"The  impossible  must  be  justified  by  reference  to  artistic  require- 
ments, or  to  the  higher  reality,  or  to  received  opinion.    With  respect  to 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  VERISIMILITUDE  —  ALDEN  39 

the  requirements  of  art.  a  probable  impossibility  is  to  be  preferred  to  a 
thing-  improbable  and  yet  possible.  Again,  it  may  be  impossible  that  there 
should  be  men  such  as  Zeuxis  painted.  'Yes,'  we  say,  'but  the  impossible 
is  the  higher  thing,  for  the  ideal  type  must  surpass  the  reality.'  To 
justify  the  irrational,  we  appeal  to  what  is  commonly  said  to  be. 
In  addition  to  which,  we  urge  that  the  irrational  sometimes  does  not 
violate  reason ;  just  as  'it  is  probable  that  a  thing  may  happen  contrary 
to  probability.'  "^ 

The  Italian  commentators  on  Aristotle, — Maggi,  Castelvetro,  and 
Denores,  for  example- — made  much  of  these  passages,  emphasizing  the 
requirement  of  the  rerisimile  in  the  treatment  of  both  plot  and  character. 
But  it  is  not  till  we  reach  the  French  treatises  of  the  next  century  that 
we  discover  the  full  possibilities  of  the  doctrine.  One  of  the  earliest  of 
these,  L'Academie  de  I'Art  Poetique,  by  "le  Sieur  de  Deimier,"  (1610) 
introduces  us  at  once  to  the  rationalistic  interpretation  of  Aristotle's 
"probability"  which  was  so  long  to  dominate  criticism.  The  laws  of 
poetry,  we  are  told,  oblige  poets  to  write  not  only  true  things  (here  the 
probable  seems  to  narrozv  the  limitation  set  by  the  true,  it  will  be 
observed,  instead  of  widening  it),  but  things  'z'raiscmblables' ;  never 
those  impossible,  exceeding  what  one  can  imagine.  In  this  respect  even 
Homer  errs :  he  makes  the  stones  thrown  by  Hector  and  Diomed 
incredibly  big ;  and  Ariosto  also,  when  he  says  that  the  lances  of  certain 
warriors  went  so  high  as  to  touch  the  sphere  of  fire  and  come  down 
ablaze, — something  quite  contrary  to  "les  regies  astronomiques."' 

In  1623  Jean  Chapelain.  writing  his  singular  eulogistic  preface  to 
Marino's  Adone,  took  up  the  matter  from  the  other  side  of  the  question, 
representing  truth  as  altogether  abandoned  by  poetry.    The  ancients, 

"jug^eant  que  la  verite  des  choses  (suppose  qu'elles  despendissent  du 
hazard)  nuisoit  par  leurs  fortuits  et  incertains  evenemens  a  leur  intention 
si  louable,  tous  d'un  accord  ont  banny  la  verite  de  leur  Parnasse,  les  uns 
composans  tout  de  caprice,  sans  y  rien  mesler  qui  fust  d'elle,  les  autre  se 
contentans  de  la  changer  et  alterer  en  ce  qui  faisoit  centre  leur  idee."  .  .  . 
"Ainsi  done  il  sufifira  un  poeme  qu'il  soit  vraysemblable  pur  estre 
approuve,  a  cause  de  la  facile  impression  que  la  vraysemblance  fait  sur 
I'imagination.  laquelle  se  captive  et  se  laisse  mener  par  ce  moyen  a  I'inten- 
tion  du  poete." 

*  Butcher's  translation;  Aristotle's  Theory  of  Poetry  and  Fine  Art.  pp.  35, 
53-55,  105-107. 

*  Cf.  IJher  de  Poetica  (by  Maggi  and  Bartholomasus  the  Lombard"),  1550, 
pp.  130,  198;  La  Poetica  d' Aristotle  Cby  Castelvetro),  ed.  1576,  p.  400;  the  Poetica 
of  Denores,  1588,  B  14.  For  these  references  I  am  indebted  to  my  colleague. 
Professor  Colbert  Searles. 

'  Chapters  xvi,  xvii ;  pp.  500,  504,  537. 


40  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

But  the  great  opportunity  for  applying  the  doctrine  of  vraisemhlance, 
together  with  other  favorite  theories  of  neo-classicism,  came  in  connection 
with  "la  querelle  du  Cid."  The  point  upon  which  Corneille's  play  chiefly 
turned,  the  conflict  of  emotions  in  the  heart  of  a  woman  who  loves  the 
slayer  of  her  father,  one  would  think  to  be  a  conspicuous  example  of  the 
kind  of  "probability  contrary  to  probability"  which  Aristotle  had  noted, 
as  his  readers  in  this  period  very  well  knew.  But  not  so  Scudery, 
who  in  his  attack  on  the  Cid  in  his  Observations  (1637),  first  laid  down 
the  law  of  vraisemhlance  as  the  chief  of  those  governing  the  dramatist, 
quoted  Aristotle  against  "improbable  possibilities,"  and  declared  that  the 
Cid  violated  the  law,  since  under  no  circumstances  is  it  probable  (even 
though  known  to  have  occurred)  that  a  woman  should  marry  her  father's 
murderer.*  And  the  Academy  sustained  the  charge.  In  its  Sentimens 
(1638),  voiced  by  Chapelain,  it  was  admitted  that  Aristotle  gave  room  for 
an  "extraordinary"  kind  of  probability,  as  when  (for  example)  a  strong 
man  is  conquered  f  but  this  does  not  permit  us  to  go  too  far.  It  would 
not  permit  the  poet  to  represent  one  who  had  always  lived  honorably 
as  committing  a  crime ;  and  it  would  not  permit  the  Chimene  of  the  drama 


*  Gaste :  La  Querelle  du  Cid,  p.  77. 

'The  statement  made  by  Chapelain  that  Aristotle  recognizes  two  kinds  of 
probability,  ordinary  and  extraordinary,  is  repeated  by  Mesnardiere  (1640;  see 
below),  but  is  of  course  inaccurate.  It  appears  to  have  been  derived  from 
Castelvetro's  comment  on  Aristotle's  words  in  chapter  xviii  of  the  Poetics :  "... 
when  the  clever  rogue,  like  Sisyphus,  is  outwitted,  or  the  brave  villain  defeated. 
Such  an  event  is,  moreover,  probable  in  Agathon's  sense  of  the  word :  'it  is 
probable,'  he  says,  'that  many  things  should  happen  contrary  to  probability.' " 
(Butcher,  p.  69.)  Castelvetro's  comment  is  as  follows:  "Sono  duo  maniere  di 
verisimili,  I'una  di  quelli,  che  rappresentano  le  verita,  le  quali  avengono  per  lo 
piu  secondo  certo  corso,  &  I'altra  di  quelli,  che  rappresentano  le  verita,  che 
alcuna  volta  traviano  dall'  usato  corso.  Come,  e  verisimile,  che  uno  astute 
malvagio  inganni  &  non  sia  ingannato,  &  che  un  possente  vinca,  &  non  sia 
vinto,  perchio  che  veramente  noi  veggiamo  per  lo  piu  avenire  cosi,  &  e  anchora 
verisimile,  che  uno  astuto  malvagio,  volendo  ingannare,  sia  ingannato  alcuna 
volta,  &  che  un  possente,  volendo  vincere,  sia  vinto  alcuna  volta.  Si  che 
I'un  verisimile  riguarda  I'assai  volte  della  verita,  &  I'altro  le  poche  volte  della 
verita,  &  cosi  I'uno,  come  I'altro  e  verisimile.  Ma  il  secondo  per  la  rarita,  e  piu 
maraviglioso,  &  e  detto  essere  verisimile  fuori  del  verisimile  pure  per  la  rarita,  & 
perche  si  torce  dalla  strada  del  primo  verisimile,"  (part,  xx.)  Castelvetro's 
examples  of  the  two  sorts  of  probability  seem  largely  to  have  suggested  those  of 
later  critics;  though  (as  Professor  Searles  kindly  brings  to  my  attention)  Maggi 
had  already  made  a  similar  variation  upon  Aristotle's  "brave  villain  defeated" : 
"verisimile  non  esse  sapientem  decipi  nee  strenuum  superari."  (De  poetica,  part, 
xcv.) 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  VERISIMILITUDE  —  ALDEN  41 

to  become  reconciled  to  Roderigo,  even  though  the  Chimene  of  history 
was  so  reconciled.  "Toutes  les  verites  ne  sont  pas  bonnes  pour  le  theatre." 
The  poet  had  better  alter  history  rather  than  present  "verites  monstru- 
euses  ;"  for  his  art,  "proposant  I'idee  universelle  des  choses.  .  .  .  espure  des 
defaux  et  des  irregularites  particulieres  que  I'histoire  par  la  severite  de 
ses  loix  est  contrainte  d'y  soufifrir."®  Aristotle's  veritable  doctrine,  of 
course, — but  with  an  application  which  would  surely  have  caused  any 
Greek  to  stare. 

In  La  Po'etique  of  Mesnardiere  (1640)  we  find  not  only  a  general 
exposition  of  Aristotelian  vraisemblance  (in  chapter  iii,  on  Tragedy), 
but  a  special  application  to  the  treatment  of  character  by  the  poet  (chapter 
viii,  on  Moeurs).  This  form  of  the  doctrine  was  the  result  of  a 
coalescence  of  the  second  of  the  passages  from  the  Poetics  quoted  above 
("thus  a  person  of  a  given  character  should  speak  or  act  in  a  given  way") 
with  an  equally  familiar  passage  from  Horace  De  Arte  Poetica, — the  New 
Testament  of  classical  orthodoxy,  as  Aristotle's  treatise  was  the  Old: 

^tatis  cujiisqiie  notandi  sunt  tibi  mores, 
Mohilibusqtie  decor  naturis  dandus  et  annis; — 

(vv.  156-157) 

with  the  succeeding  verses  describing  the  four  ages  of  man.  Professor 
Spingarn  has  given  a  brief  but  sound  and  suggestive  account  of  the 
inferences  drawn  by  the  Renaissance  critics  from  this  blended 
Aristotelian-Horatian  precept,  pointing  out  how  they  "led  to  a  hardening 
and  crystallization  of  character  in  the  classic  drama."^  Of  this  tendency 
Mesnardiere's  discussion  is  a  remarkable  example.  The  moeurs  of 
tradegy  may  be  determined,  he  tells  us,  by  age,  fortune,  and  station.  A 
king  should  be  courageous  and  prudent,  a  tyrant  cruel  and  perfidious 
(what  if  a  tyrant,  one  cannot  help  inquiring,  should  be  also  a  king?). 
The  element  of  nationality  gives  similar  generalizations:  Frenchmen 
are  to  be  represented  as  "hardis,  courtois,  indiscrets,  genereux,  incon- 
stans,  prodigues,  peu  laborieux,  polls,  legers  dans  leurs  amours,  impatiens 
et  temeraires;"     Englishmen  as  infidelles,   parresseux.  vaillans,  cruels, 


*  La  Querelle  du  Cid,  p.  365  f. 

^Literary  Criticism  in  the  Renaissance,  page  86.  But  Spingarn  refers  only  to 
the  "tentative  distinctions  of  character  formulated  by  Aristotle  in  the  Rhetoric," 
and  remarks  on  the  misconception  which  led  to  "the  attempt  to  transpose  them  to 
the  domain  of  poetry."  The  passage  above  cited  from  chapter  xv  of  the  Poetics 
is  evidence  that  the  neo-classicists  were  not  wholly  without  warrant  for  their 
attempt. 


42  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

amateurs  de  la  proprete,  ennemis  des  etrangers,  altiers  et  interressez." 
Although  there  are  individual  exceptions,  the  poet  will  do  well  to  stick  to 
general  truth,  and  "il  ne  faut  jamais  introduire  sans  necessite  absolue.  ui 
une  fille  vaillante,  ni  une  femme  sgavante,  ni  un  valet  judicieux.  .  .  . 
Cast  chocquer  directement  la  vraisemblance  ordinaire."^  The  same 
doctrine  is  echoed  by  the  abbe  d'Aubignac  {La  Pratique  dti  Theatre, 
1657)  :  "Quand  un  roy  parle  sur  la  scene,  il  faut  qu'il  parle  en  roy." 
(p.  95.)     And  Boileau's  summary  of  the  matter  will  be  readily  recalled: 

"Des  siecles,  de  pays,  etudiez  les  moeurs ; 
Les  climats  font  souvent  les  diverses  humeurs. 
Gardez  done  de  donner.  ainsi  que  dans  Clelie, 
L'air  ni  I'esprit  francois  a  I'antique  Italic." 
{L'Art  Poetique,  iii,  113-116)* 

Limitations  of  space  make  it  necessary  to  mention  later  critics  in  a 
still  more  cursory  fashion.  In  Rapin's  Reflexions  siir  la  Poetique  d'Aris- 
tote  (1674)  is  a  conventional  discussion  of  the  relation  of  the  probable 
to  the  marvelous,  both  elements  being  characteristic  of  poetry ;  incidental 
to  this  is  a  definition  of  le  vraisemhlahle:  it  is  "tout  ce  qui  est  conforme 
a  I'opinion  du  public."^"  Dacier,  in  the  ninth  chapter  of  his  commentary 
on  the  Poetics  (1692),  treats  the  same  matter,  but  without  originality. 
Perrault,  incidental  to  his  attack  upon  the  sacredness  of  the  ancient  poets 
(Paralelle  des  Anciens  et  des  Modernes,  1692),  like  Deimier.  finds  Homer 
erring  against  the  law  of  probability.  The  poet  permits  Achilles  and 
Agamemnon  to  revile  each  other  far  too  impudently ;  kings  and  captains 
were  surely  never  so  brutal,  or,  if  they  were,  such  things  have  no  place 
in  a  poem,  "ou  les  choses  se  mettent.  non  point  comme  elles  peuvent,  mais 
comme  elles  doivent  arriver."  (Tome  iii,  p.  49.)  Thus  the  century  ends 
with  the  devotion  to  ideal  vraisemblance  unimpaired." 

'pp.  120-124,  137. 

'  Earlier  in  the  canto,  too,  Boileau  summarizes  the  more  general  form  of  the 
doctrine : 

"Jamais  au  spectateur  n'offrez  d'incroyable ; 

Le  vrai  peut  quelquefois  n'etre  pas  vraisemblable. 

Une  merveille  absurde  est  pour  moi  sans  appas ; 

L'esprit  n'est  point  emu  de  ce  qu'il  ne  croit  pas."     (47-50.) 

"  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Vavasseur,  who  attacked  Rapin's  work  in  some 
Remarques  (found  in  his  Opera  Omnia,  Amsterdam,  1709),  objects  to  Rapin's 
admitting  la  verite  as  an  element  having  any  place  in  poetry,  and  cites  Aristotle 
as  permitting  only  le  vraysemblahle.     (p.  686.) 

"  Corneille's  discussion  of  the  subject  has  been  omitted,  since  its  only 
characteristic    feature    is    a    complete    misunderstanding    of    Aristotle,    commonly 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  VERISIMILITUDE  —  ALDEN  43 

A  special  application  of  the  doctrine,  even  more  influential  than  that 
having  to  do  with  types  of  character,  was  that  concerned  in  the  law  of  the 
unities  of  time  and  place.  This  has  been  more  carefully  studied  than  any 
of  the  other  aspects  of  the  subject,  and  our  present  purpose  will  only 
admit  of  indicating  briefly  the  close  connection  between  the  general  theory 
of  probability  and  the  discussion  of  the  unities.  For  the  early  Renais- 
sance critics  this  has  been  pointed  out  by  Professor  Spingarn  (Criticism 
in  the  Renaissance,  pp.  93-96)  ; — how  the  notion  of  the  verisimile,  in  the 
case  of  the  drama,  became  that  of  an  illusion,  by  which  the  spectator  was 
to  be  made  to  seem  to  see  the  very  events  depicted  by  the  poet.^-  The  abbe 
d'Aubignac,  greatest  of  the  French  authorities  on  the  subject,  bases  his 
teaching  on  the  same  theory.  If  the  action  appears  in  several  places  "il 
rendra  son  poeme  ridicule  par  le  defaut  de  la  vraysemblance  qui  doit  en 
faire  le  principal  fondement."  (p.  122.)  And  to  represent  a  prince  as 
born,  married,  etc.,  in  a  single  play,  like  one  of  Hardy's,  is  to  require  us  to 
imagine  him  marrying  one  "qui  vraysemblablement  n'estoit  nee  que  depuis 
Touverture  du  theatre."  (p.  150.)^^ 

Turning  now  to  England,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  we  find 
no  such  wealth  of  critical  discussion.  Not  a  single  complete  treatise  on 
Aristotle  and  his  Poetics  vexed  the  liberties  of  English  poets  during  the 
period  when  their  brethren  on  the  Continent  were  so  weighted  with 
instruction.     But  these  continental  treatises  were  of  course   read  and 


attributed  to  the  dramatist's  desire  to  square  his  own  practice  with  the  authority 
of  the  critic's  law.  Corneille  takes  "necessary"  as  opposed  to  "probable,"  defining 
it  as  "le  besoin  du  poete  pour  arriver  a  son  but ;" — that  is,  when  the  poet  finds  it 
too  hard  to  keep  within  the  law  of  vraisemblance,  he  takes  refuge  in  necessity! 
The  various  remarks  of  Corneille  on  our  subject  will  be  found  in  the  first  and 
second  of  his  Discours  {OEuvres,  ed.  Marty-Laveaux,  tome  i,  pp.  14-15.  36,  81-97). 
It  may  be  worth  while  to  quote  his  definition  of  vraisemblance:  "une  chose  mani- 
festement  possible  dans  la  bienseance,  et  qui  n'est  ni  manifestement  vraie  ni 
manifestement  fausse."     (p.  88.) 

"  See  his  quotation  from  Scaliger's  Poetics,  to  the  effect  that  hand  verisimile 
est  that  within  a  brief  space  of  time  (six  or  eight  hours)  "a  tempest  should  arise 
and  a  shipwreck  occur,"  etc. 

"It  is  the  same  with  Dacier  (see  his  Poetique  d'Aristote,  pp.  115-116).  On 
the  other  hand  La  Motte,  in  his  Discours  prefatory  to  Les  Machabees,  dared 
to  point  out  that  the  unities  of  time  and  place  are  more  likely  to  impair 
vraisemblance  than  to  maintain  it  (CEuvres,  ed.  1754,  tome  iv,  p.  38  et  seq.) 
(La  Motte's  argument  should  be  compared  with  John  Dennis's  critique  on 
Addison's  Cato  (Remarks  on  Cato,  1711)  and  Dr.  Johnson's  defence  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan violation  of  the  unities,  in  his  Preface  to  Shakespeare.)  Though  this 
interesting  rationalist  does  not  fall  within  our  period,  I  cannot  omit  to  call 
attention  to  his  delightful  use  of  the  principle  of  vraisemblance  as  an  argument 
against  the  use  of  verse  in  the  drama  (Discours  prefatory  to  CEdipe,  ibid.  p.  39i)- 


44  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

pondered  by  the  learned  in  England  also,  and  had  their  influence  upon  the 
classical  ideal.  And  when  so-called  classicism  became  far  more  a  matter 
of  rationalism  than  of  reverence  for  the  past,  its  representatives  found  in 
the  doctrine  of  Probability  a  support  for  theories  the  very  opposite  of 
vi^hat  Aristotle  intended  when  he  set  probability  over  against  truth.  Thus 
Thomas  Hobbes,  in  his  letter  to  Davenant  regarding  the  latter's  Gondihert 
(1650),  argued  against  the  romantic  excesses  of  the  poets, — those  who 
exceed  "the  possibility  of  nature"  in  representing  "impenetrable  armors, 
enchanted  castles,  invulnerable  bodies,"  and  the  like ;  and  added :  "For 
as  truth  is  the  bound  of  historical,  so  the  resemblance  of  truth  [our  old 
friend  vraisemhlance]   is  the  utmost  limit  of  poetical  liberty."" 

But  there  was  only  one  English  critic  who  represented  the  extreme 
formalism  of  the  French  school  in  his  attitude  toward  our  subject,  and 
he,  from  his  savage  and  tasteless  attacks  on  the  great  Elizabethan  poets, 
was  doomed  to  be  held  in  lasting  contempt.  This  was  Thomas  Rymer, 
whose  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age  (1678)^^  exhibits  the  logical  working 
out  of  the  dogma  of  probability,  especially  as  applied  to  the  types  of 
character  in  the  drama,  even  to  a  point  beyond  that  attained  by  any  of  the 
continental  critics.  It  was  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Maid's  Tragedy 
which  Rymer  found  especially  significant  of  the  neglect  of  the  study  of 
Aristotle's  precepts  by  the  Elizabethans.^^  "Nothing  in  nature  was  ever 
so  improbable  as  we  find  the  whole  conduct  of  this  tragedy, — so  far  are 
we  from  any  thing  accurate  and  philosophical  as  poetry  requires."  There 
is  a  king  who  is  utterly  unkingly,  and  a  woman  who  is  unwomanly.  "I 
question  whether  in  poetry  a  king  can  be  accessory  to  a  crime ;"  and 
"tragedy  cannot  represent  a  woman  without  modesty  as  natural  and 
essential  to  her."  These  strange  utterances  will  be  recognized  as 
metamorphoses  of  Aristotle's  "a  person  of  a  given  character  should 
speak  or  act  in  a  given  way."^^    Rymer  goes  further,  and  lays  down  such 


"  Spingarn's  Critical  Essays  of  the  17th  Century,  vol.  ii,  p.  62. 

"Really  published  1677. 

"  "Aristotle's  Treatise  of  Poetry,"  he  said,  "...  was  perhaps  commented  upon 
by  all  the  great  men  in  Italy  before  we  well  knew,  on  this  side  of  the  Alps,  that  there 
was  such  a  book  in  being."     (Spingarn's  Critical  Essays,  ii,  207.) 

"Professor  Lounsbury,  in  his  account  of  Rymer  {Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic 
Artist,  pp.  227-240),  gives  an  amusing  outline  of  these  doctrines,  but,  unfortunately, 
rather  ridicules  their  external  absurdities  than  seeks  to  penetrate  their  real 
character.  In  particular,  he  seems  to  attribute  the  theory  as  to  the  proper  character 
of  kings  in  tragedy  to  a  desire  on  Rymer's  part  to  apply  to  poetry  "the  political 
maxim  that  the  king  can  do  no  wrong."  There  is  of  course  no  occasion  to  look 
for  any  explanation  beyond  that  offered  by  the  historic  course  of  the  doctrine  we 
have  been  studying. 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  VERISIMILITUDE  —  ALDEN  45 

general  rules  as  that  "poetical  decency  will  not  suffer  death  to  be  dealt 
to  each  other  by  such  persons  whom  the  laws  of  duel  allow  not  to  enter 
the  lists  together,"  and  that  "poetry  will  not  permit  an  affront  where 
there  can  be  no  reparation."^*  These  conventions  remind  us  of  some  of 
those  practiced  on  the  French  stage  of  the  same  period,  but  are  set  down 
rather  more  baldly  and  intolerantly  than  had  been  done  by  any  French 
critic.^^  On  the  other  hand,  few  English  dramatists  went  so  far  as  the 
French  in  observing  any  of  the  neo-classical  formalities.  But  the 
observant  student  of  the  drama  of  the  period,  in  both  nations,  will  not 
fail  to  see  the  deadening  effect  of  this  conception  of  probability  in  the 
treatment  of  dramatic  characters.  To  this  day  it  impairs  the  enjoyment 
even  of  the  tragedies  of  Racine,  on  the  part  of  those  trained  to  another 
school.  If  your  men  and  women  must  move  like  the  men  in  a  game  of 
chess, — the  knight  according  to  one  fixed  law,  the  pawn  according  to 
another — there  is  established  a  relation  to  human  life  quite  different  from 
that  exhibited  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  Victor 
Hugo  on  the  other.^°  Indeed  one  turns  back  to  Aristotle's  treatise,  after  a 
season  with  these  seventeenth-century  disciples  of  his,  and  especially  to 
that  quizzical  saying  of  Agathon's  which  the  master  twice  quotes  with 
approbation  (that  "it  is  probable  that  a  thing  may  happen  contrary  to 
probability"),  as  to  a  stronghold  of  romanticism. 

In  1679  Dryden  published  his  Preface  to  Troihis  and  Cressida,  con- 
taining a  discussion  of  "the  Grounds  of  Criticism  in  Tragedy."  He  had 
been  doing  not  a  little  reading  in  the  French  critics,  notably  Rapin,  and 
through  them  had  renewed  or  extended  his  acquaintance  with  Aristotle. 
One  result  of  this  is  found  in  some  remarks  on  probability. 

"The  last  quality  of  the  action  is,  that  it  ought  to  be  probable,  as  well 
as  admirable  and  great.  'Tis  not  necessary  that  there  should  be  historical 
truth  in  it,  but  always  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  likeness  of  truth, 
something  that  is  more  than  barely  possible ;  probable  being  that  which 
succeeds,  or  happens,  oftener  than  it  misses.  To  invent  therefore  a 
probability,  and  to  make  it  wonderful,  is  the  most  difficult  undertaking  in 

"Spingarn,  ii,   190-195,    199. 

"In  1693  Rymer  returned  to  the  subject,  introducing  into  his  Short  View  of 
Tragedy  his  famous  attack  on  Othello.  Nothing  is  done  by  Othello  "that  comports 
with  the  condition  of  a  general."  "But  what  is  most  intolerable  is  lago," — a 
villainous  soldier.  "Horace  describes  a  soldier  otherwise:  impiger,  iracundus, 
inexorabilis,  acer."  (Spingarn,  ii,  273.)  Again  the  complaint  has  respect  to 
vraisemblance  in  types  of  character. 

^In  this  connection  see  a  significant  remark  of  Spingarn's  on  the  connection 
between  the  doctrine  of  versimilitude  and  the  comedy  of  "humours."  {Criticism 
in  the  Renaissance,  p.  88.) 


46  MATZKR    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

the  art  of  poetry ;  for  that  which  is  not  wonderful  is  not  great,  and  that 
which  is  not  probable  will  not  delight  a  reasonable  audience."  (Ker's 
Essays  of  John  Dryden,  vol.  i,  p.  209.) 

This  comparison  of  the  probable  and  the  marvelous  was  doubtless 
suggested  by  Rapin's  discussion  of  the  subject  (see  on  his  Reflexions, 
above)  ;  and  it  may  be  that  Dryden's  rather  curious  definition  of  the 
probable  is  a  version  of  Rapin's  "tout  ce  qui  est  conforme  a  I'opinion  du 
public."  That  is  to  say,  instead  of  Aristotle's  probable, — that  which  is 
closely  related  to  the  "necessary,"  which  flows  from  the  normal  connection 
of  things, — we  have  here  a  merely  mathematical  probable,  which  repre- 
sents what  people  expect  because  it  is  the  average  of  experience.  It 
would  naturally  be  more  difficult  to  find  "the  marvelous"  in  an  event 
probable  in  this  latter  sense. 

A  little  later  in  the  essay  Dryden  takes  up  the  manners  of  tragedy, 
and — with  a  reference  to  Horace's  Notandi  sunt  tibi  mores — makes  con- 
ventional observations  upon  the  proprieties  of  character  to  be  observed 
in  the  representation  of  age,  sex,  and  degrees  of  dignity. 

"Thus,  when  a  poet  has  given  the  dignity  of  a  king  to  one  of  his 
persons,  in  all  his  actions  and  speeches,  that  person  must  discover  majesty, 
magnanimity,  and  jealousy  of  power,  because  these  are  suitable  to  the 
general  manners  of  a  king."     (ibid.,  p.  214.) 

This  sounds  very  Rymer-like,  at  first  reading.  But  the  context 
reveals  a  difference.  Not  only  is  the  principle  not  applied  to  the  con- 
demnation of  characters  in  dramas  "of  the  last  age,"  but  we  are  presently 
told  that  a  character  "cannot  be  supposed  to  consist  of  one  particular 
virtue,  or  vice,  or  passion  only,  but  'tis  a  composition  of  qualities  which 
are  not  contrary  to  one  another."  Falstaff  is  instanced  as  an  example 
(and  imagine  Rymer\s  opinion  of  such  a  soldier!)  ;  he  is  at  once  "a  liar 
and  a  coward,  a  glutton,  and  a  buffoon."  Still  further,  the  character  of 
Qidipus,  in  Sophocles,  shows  "the  true  qualities  of  a  king."  but  in  the 
second  of  the  two  plays  that  bear  his  name  he  no  longer  speaks  "in  the 
arbitrary  tone,  but  remembers  .  .  .  that  he  is  an  unfortunate  blind  old 
man."  That  it  does  not  occur  to  Dryden  that  it  is  poetically  improbable 
that  a  king  should  be  an  unfortunate  blind  old  man,  is  a  striking 
example  of  the  good  sense  and  genuine  taste  which  again  and  again 
preserved  him  from  blunders  through  a  magnificent  inconsistency  of 
which  the  mere  theorists  were  never  guilty.^^ 

**  The  familiarity  which  may  be  presumed  with  Dryden's  discussion  of  the 
unities,  in  the  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  and  the  Defence,  makes  it  doubtful 
whether    it    need    be    mentioned    here.      But    I    may    call    attention    to    the    close 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  VERISIMILITUDE  —  ALDEN  47 

To  pass  into  the  eighteenth  century  is  forbidden  by  our  title;  but 
the  matter  of  verisimiHtude  in  types  of  character  runs  over  the  Hne  in 
a  way  which  makes  it  ahnost  necessary  to  follow  it.  John  Dennis,  in 
his  letters  On  the  Genius  and  Writings  of  Shakespeare,  (1711),  shows  the 
inheritance  of  the  old  doctrine,  defending  his  alteration  of  the  tragedy 
of  Coriolanus  on  this  among  other  grounds. 

"Our  author  has  sometimes  made  gross  mistakes  in  the  characters 
which  he  has  drawn  from  history,  against  the  equality  and  conveniency 
of  manners  of  his  dramatical  persons.  Witness  Menenius  in  the  following 
tragedy,  whom  he  has  made  an  errant  buffoon,  which  is  a  great  absurdity. 
For  he  might  as  well  have  imagined  a  grave  majestic  jack-pudding,  as  a 
buffoon  in  a  Roman  senator.  Aufidius,  the  general  of  the  Volscians,  is 
shown  a  base  and  a  profligate  villain."  (In  Nichol  Smith's  Eighteenth 
Century  Essays  on  Shakespeare,  p.  26.) 

And  he  expounds  with  some  eloquence  the  principle  on  which  this 
objection  is  based. — that  it  is  of  the  very  nature  of  a  "fable"  (that  is,  a 
fictitious  plot)  to  satisfy  us  better  than  a  history,  because  of  the  mutual 
dependence  of  its  parts  and  its  exhibition  of  the  true  causes  of  events ; 
this  of  course  being  another  echo  of  the  Aristotelian  discussion  of  proba- 
bility as  a  form  of  ideal  truth. ^^ 

It  is  to  the  everlasting  glory  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  who — as  is 

connection  beween  a  famous  passage  in  the  reply  to  Howard,  and  those  which  we 
have  seen  in  the  French  critics  applying  the  doctrine  of  the  vraisemblable  to  the 
unities.  "There  is  a  greater  vicinity  in  nature  betwixt  two  rooms  than  betwixt  two 
houses ;  betwixt  two  houses,  than  betwixt  two  cities ;  and  so  of  the  rest.  Reason, 
therefore,  can  sooner  be  led  by  imagination  to  step  from  one  room  into  another, 
than  to  walk  to  two  distant  houses,  and  yet  rather  to  go  thither  than  to  fly  like  a 
witch  through  the  air.  Fancy  and  Reason  go  hand  in  hand ;  the  first  cannot  leave  the 
last  behind ;  and  though  Fancy,  when  it  sees  the  wide  gulf,  would  venture  over,  as 
the  nimbler,  yet  it  is  withheld  by  Reason,  which  will  refuse  to  take  the  leap,  when 
the  distance  over  it  appears  too  large.  ...  So,  then,  the  less  change  of  place  there 
is,  the  less  time  is  taken  up  in  transporting  the  persons  of  the  drama,  with  analogy 
to  reason ;  and  in  that  analogy,  or  resemblance  of  fiction  to  truth,  consists  the 
excellency  of  the  play."  {Defence,  Ker,  vol.  i,  p.  128.)  In  the  phrase  "resemblance 
of  fiction  to  truth"  we  see  again  the  development  of  the  idea  of  illusion  in 
verisimile. 

^In  immediate  connection  with  his  objection  to  Shakespeare's  want  of 
"conveniency  of  manners,"  Dennis  sets  forth  his  want  of  observance  of  poetic 
justice;  and  the  essay  exemplifies  very  interestingly  the  connection  between 
the  latter  dogma  and  that  of  probability.  Indeed  from  one  point  of  view  the  demand 
for  poetic  justice,  like  that  for  the  unities  of  time  and  place,  is  a  special  application 
of  the  doctrine  we  have  been  studying.  I  cannot  discuss  the  matter  further  here, 
but  may  venture  to  refer  to  an  account  of  it  given  in  an  article  on  "The  Decline  of 
Poetic  Justice,"  Atlantic  Monthly,  cv,  260  (1910). 


48 


MATZKE    MEMORIAL    VOLUME 


frequently  forgotten — represented  the  "age  of  common  sense"  in  occa- 
sional vigorous  opposition  to  formal  classicism  as  well  as  to  romantic 
licenses,  that  he  struck  a  decisive  blow  at  the  doctrine  of  probability  as 
applied  to  types  of  character  by  the  neo-classical  critics,  in  the  same  noble 
Preface  in  which  he  exposed  the  fallacy  of  illusion  and  the  unities. 

"Dennis  and  Rymer  think  [Shakespeare's]  Romans  not  sufficiently 
Roman,  and  Voltaire  censures  his  kings  as  not  completely  royal. 
Dennis  is  offended  that  Menenius,  a  senator  of  Rome,  should  play  the 
buffoon ;  and  Voltaire  perhaps  thinks  decency  violated  when  the  Danish 
usurper  is  represented  as  a  drunkard.  But  Shakespeare  always  makes 
nature  predominate  over  accident,  and  if  he  preserves  the  essential  char- 
acter, is  not  very  careful  of  distinctions  superinduced  and  adventitious. 
His  story  requires  Romans  or  kings,  but  he  thinks  only  on  men.  He  knew 
that  Rome,  like  every  other  city,  had  men  of  all  dispositions ;  and  wanting 
a  buffoon,  he  went  into  the  senate-house  for  that  which  the  senate-house 
would  certainly  have  afforded  him.  He  was  inclined  to  show  an  usurper 
and  a  murderer  not  only  odious,  but  despicable ;  he  therefore  added 
drunkenness  to  his  other  qualities,  knowing  that  kings  love  wine  like 
other  men,  and  that  wine  exerts  its  natural  power  upon  kings.  These  are 
the  petty  cavils  of  petty  minds ;  a  poet  overlooks  the  casual  distinction  of 
country  and  condition,  as  a  painter,  satisfied  with  the  figure,  neglects  the 
drapery."     (Eighteenth  Century  Essays  on  Shakespeare,  p.  117  et  seq.) 

The  doctrine  of  Versimilitude,  then,  like  other  forms  of  neo- 
classicism,  was  a  distortion — sometimes  slight,  sometimes  excessive — 
of  a  cardinal  principle  of  poetry.  That  mere  fact  is  not  enough ;  that 
poetic  truth  transcends  historical ;  that  the  events  which  are  of  universal 
interest  are  those  which  are  connected  by  some  form  of  "necessity"  or 
law ;  and  that  the  characters  which  are  of  universal  interest  are  those 
in  like  manner  which  are  seen  to  have  representative  significance  and  not 
merely  individuality ; — all  these  things  are  true,  and  forever  have  been 
and  shall  be.  It  has  been  the  purpose  of  this  paper  to  bring  together 
some  of  the  facts  which  indicate  how  these  axioms  of  art  developed 
morbidly;  with  the  resulting  belief  that  not  the  individual,  but  the  type, 
because  of  its  universality,  is  the  only  proper  theme  of  the  artist,^^  and  that 
human  passion  and  circumstance,  no  matter  how  moving,  cannot  be 
presented  in  poetry  unless  they  conform  to  categories  predetermined 
by  average  experience.  Thus,  by  a  singular  paradox,  a  doctrine  which 
arose  in  defence  of  idealism  and  poetic  freedom  became  a  bulwark  of 
rationalism  and  formalistic  restraint. 


"As,  for  example,  in  Sir  Joshua's  Reynold's  theory  of  the  beautiful   (see  his 
paper  in  the  87th  Idler). 


THE     RELATION     OF     THE     GERMAN     "GREGORIUS     AUF 

DEM  STEIN"  TO  THE  OLD  FRENCH  POEM  "LA 

VIE  DE  SAINT  GREGOIRE" 

Clifford  Gilmore  Allen 

THE  intrigue  in  this  German  version^  (yb.),  in  the  German  version 
of  Hartmann  von  Aue,-  in  the  French  version^   ( Fr. ) ,  and  in 
the   Latin   version   found   in   the   Gesta   Romanorum*    (Gr.)    is 
practically  identical.     It  is  as  follows : 

A  child  is  born  whose  father  and  mother  are  brother  and  sister.  The 
father,  to  expiate  his  sins,  goes  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land,  and 
dies  there.  The  mother  puts  the  child  in  a  barrel,  together  with  certain 
tablets  on  which  it  is  written  that  the  mother  of  the  child  is  at  the  same 
time  his  aunt,  and  his  father  his  uncle.  The  barrel  is  carried  to  the  shore 
of  the  sea  and  set  adrift.  The  infant,  however,  is  rescued.  He  grows 
up.  He  learns  the  circumstances  of  his  birth  and  wishes  to  find  his 
parents.  He  undertakes  a  sea  voyage.  The  wind  carries  him  to  the  shore 
of  the  land  where  his  mother  is  reigning.  This  land  is  just  now  being 
besieged  by  a  wooer  for  the  hand  of  the  mother.  The  son  delivers  his 
mother  from  her  enemies.  She  marries  him.  When  it  is  too  late  they 
discover  the  relationship  existing  between  them,  and  decide  to  separate. 
The  mother  is  to  expiate  her  sins  where  she  is,  while  Gregory  goes  away, 
miserably  dressed.  He  meets  with  all  sorts  of  hardships.  Finally  he 
permits  a  fisherman  to  place  him  on  a  desert  island,  where  he  lives  seven- 
teen years.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the  Holy  See'^  is  vacant,  and  a  voice 
from  heaven  announces  that  our  penitent  is  to  be  the  successor  of  the  late 
pope.  In  this  new  life  Gregory  is  the  consolation  of  all  sinners.  His 
mother,  hearing  people  talk  of  this  good  man,  comes  to  him  to  seek 
counsel  and  consolation.  They  recognize  each  other.  A  nunnery  is 
established  with  Gregory's  mother  as  abbess.  They  live  holy  lives  until 
both  give  up  their  souls  to  God. 

1  Simrock,  Die  dcutschen  Volkshi'icher.  XII,  pp.  85-113. 

-  Edition  by  Hermann  Paul,  Halle,  1873. 

^  Edition  by  Luzarche,  Tours.   1857. 

•♦  Edition   by   Keller,    Stuggart   and   Tubinger.    1843,   pp.    124-133. 

*  In   Vb.   a  bishopric. 


50  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

Gr.  is  closely  related  to  our  two  versions.  It  seems  safe  to  assume 
that  it  is  a  more  or  less  direct  descendant  of  Fr." 

It  remains,  then,  to  consider  the  relation  of  Vb.  to  the  other  versions. 

That  version  dates  from  the  15th  or  i6th  century. 

There  existed  at  that  time  the  following  versions  of  our  legend : 

1.  Fr.  This  is  doubtless  a  translation  from  a  Latin  original,  perhaps 
referred  to  as  the  "histoire"  (p.  96)  or  "estoire"  (p.  118).  The  existing 
manuscripts'  are  copies  of  an  original  which  dates  from  the  nth  cen- 
tury.* 

2.  The  version  of  Hartmann  von  Aue. 

3.  Gr.,  found  in  the  collection  compiled  toward  the  end  of  the  14th 
century.® 

Vb.  is  more  modern  than  the  other  versions.  It  appears  in  a  territory 
where  one  or  another  of  these  versions  must  have  been  known.  It  seems 
probable,  then,  that  it  should  have  come  from  one  of  these  versions, 
rather  than  from  one  of  which  we  know  nothing,  and  of  whose  very 
existence  we  are  still  in  doubt. 

In  general  the  commentators  have  been  of  this  opinion.^"  Seelisch, 
however,  maintains  that  this  version,  while  in  part  dependent  on  Gr., 
has  an  independent  source  and  represents  the  oldest  form  of  the  legend.^' 

According  to  him  the  legend  in  its  simplest  form  appeared  in 
Europe  during  the  nth  or  12th  century.  z\t  that  time  the  question  of 
marriage  between  relatives  was  frequently  discussed  in  the  Church,  and 
a  piece  of  fiction  on  this  subject  would  not  have  been  without  interest. 

^  See  Littre,  Journal  des  Savants,  1858,  p.  484,  and  Constans,  Legende  d' 
Edipe,  Paris,  1881,  p.  117.  Seelisch,  Die  Gregoriitslegende,  in  the  Zeitschrift  fiir 
deutsche  Philologie,  1887,  pp.  385-421  (cf.  pp.  401-402)  thinks  that  Gr.  is  perhaps 
a  short  reworking  of  the  Latin  version  which  served  as  a  basis  for  Fr.  At  the 
same  time  he  implies  that  Fr.  was  more  faithful  to  its  common  origin  than  Gr., 
which  he  calls  a  "kiirzende  Bearbeitung."  Accordingly,  with  him,  Gr.  would  be 
equivalent  to  a  short  reworking  of  Fr. 

'  Seelisch,   ibid.,   p.   403. 

8  Seelisch,   ibid.,  p.   392. 

*  See  Gesta  Romanorum,  translated  by  the  Rev.  Charles  Swan  and  revised 
and  corrected  by  Wynnard  Hooper,  M.  A.,  London,  1906.  Various  stories  were 
added  to  the  original  compilation  from  time  to  time.  I  have  no  means  of  knowing 
whether  the  Gregory  legend  was  in  the  original  collection  or  was  added  to  it 
later. 

^°  See  D'Ancona,  La  Leggenda  di  Vergogna,  Bologna,  1869,  p.  36,  who  traces 
it  to  the  poem  of  Hartmann  von  Aue,  who  certainly  translated  Fr.  (Seelisch,  ibid.. 
p.  404)  and  Kolbing,  Beitrdge  zur  vergleichenden  Geschichte  der  romantischen 
Poesie  und  Pro.<;a  des  Mittelalters,  Breslau,  1876,  p.  43,  who  thinks  it  comes  from 
Gr. 

11  ibid.,  pp.   385-421. 


LA  VIE  DE  SAINT  GREGOIRE  —  ALLEN  51 

Seelisch  sees  five  stages  in  the  development  of  the  legend,  as  follows : 

1.  The  hero  is  a  bishop. 

2.  He  receives  the  name  of  Gregory.    This  is  the  stage  found  in  Vb. 

3.  The  character  of  the  fisherman  who  illtreats  Gregory  is  invented, 
also  the  episode  of  the  key  found  in  the  fish's  stomach. 

4.  The  bishop  becomes  a  pope. 

5.  Finally  from  the  hand  of  an  Aquitanian  the  legend  received  the 
form  represented  in  Fr. 

Seelisch  gives  us  a  theory.  He  sees  a  development  from  the  simple 
to  the  complex.  This  theory  has  not  been  disputed ;  accordingly  it  seems 
well  worth  while  to  reconsider  the  matter. 

As  for  his  stages  of  development:  The  hero  may  as  well  have  been 
called  Gregory  in  the  prototype.  Again,  the  episode  of  the  key  would 
have  been  more  likely  to  please  at  an  earlier  than  at  a  later  epoch.  As 
to  the  question  of  "bishop  or  pope,"  we  have  here  a  question  of  difTerence 
of  religion.  France  in  the  12th  century  was  Catholic.  It  is  natural  that 
the  hero  of  a  religious  legend  should  be  the  pope.  Germany  during  the 
15th  and  1 6th  centuries  was  more  or  less  Protestant.  Then  if  Vb.  was 
derived  from  a  version  where  the  hero  was  pope,  it  would  be  natural  to 
replace  this  title  by  that  of  a  dignitary  recognized  by  the  Protestants. 

One  easily  finds  traces  of  this  inclination  of  Vb.  toward  protestant- 
ism, as  p.  104,  "und  beichte  Gott  als  dem  hochsten  Priester  deine  vielfal- 
tigen  unbekannten  Missenthaten,"  a  sentiment  which  is  lacking  in  Fr., 
or  p.  no,  where  the  mother  thinks  of  confessing  her  sins  to  Saint 
Gregory  and  says :  "Wem  will  ich  meine  Sunder  sicherer  offenbaren  und 
von  wem  werde  ich  bessern  Trost  empfangen  als  eben  von  diesem 
barmherzigen  Bischof?"  Here  the  mother  wishes  to  confess  her  sins 
in  order  to  relieve  her  mind.    In  Fr.,  p.  112.  she  wishes  to  be  absolved. 

"...  voleit  prendre  cure 
Que  des  pechez  se  descharjast." 

One  could  also  compare  Vb.  (p.  in)  where  Gregory  says  to  his 
mother :  "Ich  verkundige  euch  an  Gottes  Statt,  dass  er  uns  unsere  Siinden 
verziehen  habe"  with  Fr.  (p.  114)  where  the  mother  kisses  the  feet, 
rather  of  the  pope  than  of  her  son,  and  he, 

"Selonc  sa  bonne  conscience 
Li  a  enjoint  penitence." 

It  should  also  be  noted  that  in  the  passage  where  Gregory  is  made 
pope  or  bishop  Vb.  is  following  Gr.  very  closely. 


52  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

The  present  study  aims  to  show  the  relations  existing  between  Fr. 
and  Vb. 

Fr.,  Gr.  and  Fb.  follow  each  other  even  in  the  minute  details.  A 
few  examples  will  make  this  plain. 

a.  The  benediction  of  Gregory's  grandfather  is  accorded  to  Gregory's 
father  only  on  the  condition  that  the  latter  will  honour  his  own  sister. 
(Fr.,  p.  5,  Gr.,  p.  124,  Vb.,  p.  85.) 

b.  The  knight's  wife  who  protects  Gregory's  mother  is  obliged  to 
swear  to  keep  secret  the  facts  concerning  Gregory's  birth.  (Fr.,  p.  19,  Gr., 
p.  125,  J'b.,  p.  88.) 

c.  The  child  Gregory  was  very  beautiful.  (Fr.,  p.  20,  Gr.,  p.  126, 
Vb.,  p.  89.) 

d.  The  infant  Gregory  smiles  when  he  is  discovered  in  the  barrel. 
(Fr.,  p.  37,  Gr.,  p.  127,  Vb.,  p.  91-) 

e.  As  soon  as  Gregory  learns  the  facts  concerning  his  birth  he 
wishes  to  leave  his  friend  the  abbot.  The  abbot  tries  to  persuade  him  to 
stay  and  promises  that  on  his  own  death  Gregory  shall  be  named  abbot  in 
his  stead.     (Fr.,  p.  47,  Gr.,  p.  129,  Vb.,  p.  94.) 

/.  The  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Gregory's  mother  has  taken  from  her 
her  entire  territory  with  the  exception  of  one  city.  (Fr.,  p.  54,  Gr.,  p.  129, 
Vb.,  p.  97. ) 

g.  The  mother  is  advised  to  marry  her  benefactor,  who  is  at  the 
same  time  her  son.     (Fr.,  p.  66,  Gr.,  p.  130,  Vb.,  p.  99.) 

h.  As  soon  as  the  land  is  pacified  Gregory  asks  to  be  paid  and 
dismissed.     (Fr.,  p.  68,  Gr.,  p.  129,  Vb.,  p.  99.) 

i.  One  of  the  mother's  maids  observes  Gregory's  sadness,  and  speaks 
of  it  to  her  mistress.     (Fr.,  p.  71,  Gr.,  p.  130,  Vb.,  p.  loi.) 

/.  Gregory,  miserably  dressed,  flees  during  the  night.  (Fr.,  p.  85, 
Gr.,  p.  131,  Vb.,  p.  106.) 

k.  The  fisherman  thinks  Gregory  is  not  what  he  seems  to  be.  (Fr., 
p.  86,  Gr.,  p.  131,  J^b.,  p.  106.) 

/.  It  is  because  of  the  prayers  of  his  wife  that  the  fisherman  finally 
consents  to  receive  Gregory  in  his  house.  (Fr.,  p.  87,  Gr.,  p.  131,  Vb.,  p. 
106.) 

m.  The  fisherman  mockingly  suggests  the  desert  isle  as  a  refuge  for 
Gregory.     (Fr.,  p.  93,  Gr.,  p.  131,  Vb.,  p.  107.) 

These  and  other  examples  of  similarity  of  detail  are  very  striking. 
They  could  be  explained  only  by  assuming  that  the  three  versions  in 
question  came  from  a  comon  original,  or  that  one  of  these  is  the  original 
from  which  the  others  are  derived. 

I  believe  that  Vb.  is  a  free  translation  of  Gr.     Pointing  toward  this 


LA  VIE  DE  SAINT   GREGOIRE 


ALLEN  53 


conclusion  we  have  the  statement  of  the  author  or  translator,  who  (p.  105) 
speaks  of  an  "alte  romische  Geschichte,"  doubtless  the  Gesta  Rotnan- 
orum,  where  he  finds  his  material. 

There  are  also  oth^r  facts  which  point  in  the  same  direction,  such 
as  the  folowing: 

1.  Many  episodes  which  occupy  considerable  space  in  Fr.  are 
dismissed  with  a  few  lines  in  Gr.  and  Vh.    Such  are : 

a.  The  writing  on  the  tablets.    {Fr.,  pp.  22-24,  Gr.,  p.  126,  Vh.,  p.  90.) 
h.  The  description  of  the  exposure  of  Gregory  in  the  barrel.     {Fr., 
pp.  22-26,  Gr.,  p.  126,  Vh.,  p.  90.) 

c.  The  description  of  the  battle  at  the  gates  of  the  city.  {Fr.,  pp. 
58-67,  Gr.,  p.  129,  Vb.,  p.  99.) 

d.  The  story  of  the  voyage  in  the  barrel.  (Fr.,  p.  y;^.  Gr.,  p.  127, 
Vb.,  p.  91.) 

e.  The  conversation  of  the  fisherman  who  advises  Gregory  to  seek 
an  asylum  on  the  desert  isle.     {Fr.,  p.  93,  Gr.,  p.  131,  Vh.,  p.  107.) 

The  author  of  Fr.  would  have  a  tendency  to  amplify  these  details 
in  order  to  give  his  work  such  length  as  compositions  of  this  sort 
demanded.  On  the  other  hand  a  writer  translating  these  episodes  from 
poetry  to  prose  would  not  have  this  preoccupation,  and  would  try  rather 
to  be  as  brief  as  possible. 

2.  Often  there  is  a  difference  in  the  three  versions,  such  as  to  lead 
one  to  believe  in  a  successive  change  from  Fr.  to  Vh.  through  Gr. 
Examples  are: 

a.  In  Fr.  (p.  13)  the  brother  suggests  to  the  sister  the  idea  of  asking 
counsel  from  the  knight.  In  Gr.  (p.  125)  it  is  the  sister  who  proposes 
the  same  thing  to  her  brother.  In  Vb.  (p.  87)  the  sister  sends  for  the 
knight  after  the  departure  of  the  brother. 

h.  In  Fr.  (p.  17)  the  brother,  before  his  departure,  appoints  his 
sister  as  regent  during  his  absence  and  commends  her  to  the  good 
will  of  his  vassals.  The  episode  is  much  shorter  in  Gr.  (p.  125),  and 
lacking  entirely  in  Vh. 

c.  In  Fr.  (p.  33)  the  abbot  has  sent  two  men  out  to  fish  on  the  sea 
and  they  find  the  barrel  in  which  Gregory  is  floating.  In  Gr.  (p.  127), 
he  is  with  them  on  the  shore  when  the  barrel  appears.  In  Vh.  (p.  90': 
all  three  are  out  fishing  when  they  first  see  the  barrel. 

d.  One  could  also  cite  the  successive  decrease  in  the  importance  of 
the  role  of  Gregory's  father  in  passing  from  Fr.  to  Vh.  through  Gr. 

These  phenomena  are  easy  to  explain  if  Fr.  is  the  original.  If  Vh. 
represented  the  oldest  form  of  the  legend  Fr.  would  hardly  have  created 
such  an  episode  as  h. 


54  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

3.  Very  often  Fr.  agrees  with  Gr.  against  Vb. 

a.  In  Fr.  (p.  4)  and  in  Gr.  (p.  124)  the  grandfather  calls  his  children 
and  the  knights  of  his  kingdom  to  his  death-bed.  In  Vb.  (p.  85),  only 
the  children. 

b.  A  picture  of  the  private  life  of  Gregory's  father  and  mother  is 
seen  in  Fr.  (p.  7)  and  Gr.  (p.  124).    This  is  lacking  in  Vb. 

c.  In  Fr.  (p.  15)  and  Gr.  (p.  125)  the  father  and  mother  confess 
their  sins  to  the  knight.     In  Vb.  (p.  88)  only  the  mother. 

d.  In  Fr.  (p.  16)  and  Gr.  (p.  125)  the  knight  advises  the  father  to 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land.    In  Vb.  (p.  86)  it  is  God. 

e.  In  Fr.  (p.  16)  and  Gr.  (p.  125)  Gregory's  father  confides  the 
kingdom  to  the  mother  before  setting  out  for  the  Holy  Land.  This  detail 
is  lacking  in  Vb. 

f.  After  Gregory  is  set  adrift  in  the  barrel.  Fr.  (p.  27)  and  Gr. 
(p.  126)  tell  of  the  death  of  the  father  and  the  importunity  of  the  suitors. 
Vh.  passes  directly  to  the  discovery  of  the  barrel  by  the  monks. 

g.  In  Fr.  (p.  94)  and  Gr.  (p.  132)  is  found  the  episode  of  the  irons 
and  the  key,  which  is  lacking  in  Vb. 

h.  In  Fr.  (p.  113)  and  Gr.  (p.  133)  Gregory  does  not  test  his 
mother  as  in  Vb.  (p.  no)  before  telling  her  of  their  relationship. 

These  examples  show  that  Fr.  is  more  closely  related  to  Gr.  than  to 
Vh. 

4.  On  the  other  hand  Gr.  often  agrees  with  Vh.  against  Fr. 

a.  In  Gr.  (p.  124)  Gregory's  grandfather  is  called  Marcus.  In  Vh. 
vp.  88)  he  is  called  Marcus  and  is  the  "Herzog"  of  Ferrara.  In  Fr. 
(p.  4)  he  is  the  "comte  d'  Aquitaine." 

h.  In  Gr.  (p.  124)  and  Vb.  (p.  86)  the  brother  declares  that  he  will 
die  unless  he  can  do  as  he  wills  with  the  sister.  The  idea  is  lacking  in 
Fr. 

c.  In  Gr.  (pp.  124-125)  and  Vb.  (p.  86)  the  sister  counsels  her 
brother  wisely  and  recalls  the  last  admonitions  of  their  father.  In  Fr. 
she  says  nothing. 

d.  In  Gr.  (p.  126)  and  Vb.  (p.  87)  the  knight  wishes  to  have  the 
infant  Gregory  baptized.    In  Fr.  this  is  not  discussed. 

e.  In  Gr.  (p.  126)  and  Vh.  (p.  90)  the  similarity  of  the  writing  on 
the  tablets  placed  in  the  barrel  with  Gregory  is  very  striking.  In  Fr. 
(pp.  22-24)  the  writing  is  longer. 

/.  In  Gr.  (p.  126)  and  Vh.  (p.  90)  the  barrel  is  placed  in  the  water. 
In  Fr.  (p.  26)  in  a  boat. 

g.  In  Gr.  (p.  128)  and  Vh.  (p.  91)  the  child  is  baptized  immediately 
after  he  is  found  by  the  monks.    This  is  wanting  in  Fr. 


LA  VIE  DE  SAINT  GREGOIRE  —  ALLEN  55 

It.  In  Gr.  (p.  127)  and  Vb.  (p.  96)  the  suitor  for  the  hand  of 
Gregory's  mother  is  the  duke  of  Burgundy.  In  Fr.  (p.  32)  it  is  a  "due  dc 
Raains."^' 

i.  In  Gr.  (p.  129)  and  Vb.  (p.  93)  the  abbot  shows  Gregory  the 
tablets  as  soon  as  the  latter  suspects  the  facts  concerning  his  birth.  In 
Fr.  (pp.  48-51)  he  does  this  when  Gregory  has  decided  to  go  away  and 
has  been  knighted. 

y.  In  Gr.  (p.  128)  and  Vb.  (p.  92)  Gregory  wishes  to  go  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land  to  expiate  the  sins  of  his  parents.  In  Fr. 
{  p.  52)  he  simply  goes  away  on  the  sea. 

k.  In  Gr.  (p.  129)  and  Vb.  (p.  99)  the  duke  who  wages  war  against 
Gregory's  mother  is  killed.    In  Fr.  (pp.  58-67)  he  is  made  prisoner. 

/.  In  Gr.  (p.  131)  and  Vb.  (p.  105)  the  mother  wishes  to  give  up 
her  kingdom  and  go  to  the  Holy  Land  to  expiate  her  sins.  Gregory 
departs  only  after  having  persuaded  his  mother  to  remain.  In  Fr.  (p.  84) 
Gregory   departs    without   saying   anything. 

m.  In  Gr.  (p.  132)  and  Vb.  (p.  107)  a  voice  from  heaven  tells  the 
electors  to  choose  Gregory  for  pope  or  bishop.  In  Fr.  (p.  100)  it  is  an 
angel. 

These  examples  show  clearly  that  Vb.  is  more  closely  related  to 
Gr.  than  to  Fr. 

5.  The  parts  of  Fr.  which  are  lacking  in  Gr.  are  also  lacking  in  Vb. 
Such  passages  are: 

a.  The  story  of  the  death  of  the  grandmother  (p.  4).  This 
character  is  completely  lacking  in  Gr.  and  Vb. 

b.  The  mother  will  end  her  days  if  she  is  not  permitted  to  do  as  she 
wills  with  her  child  (p.  21). 

c.  The  deceptive  procedure  of  the  abbot,  who  wishes  to  conceal  the 
truth  as  to  Gregory's  origin  (pp.  38-40). 

d.  The  episode  of  the  wife  of  the  fisherman  who  adopted  Gregory. 
She  gave  her  husband  no  rest  until  he  told  her  all  he  knew  about 
Gregory's  birth   (p.  42). 

e.  The  abbot,  to  persuade  Gregory  to  remain,  promises  him  not  only 
his  own  place  after  his  death  as  in  the  Gesta  and  Vb.,  but  lands,  riches, 
and  a  marriage  in  a  noble  family  (p.  49). 

/.  The  search  for  a  secret  place  to  conceal  the  tablets  (pp.  69-71). 
g.  The  conversation  of  Gregory,  who  wishes  to  partake  only  of  the 
meanest  food,  and  of  the  fisherman  who  mocks  him  (pp.  88-89). 

12  In  ms.  B  (81-3)  a  "due  qui  fud  romain."  The  two  mss.  should  agree.  One 
or  the  other  has  been  corrupted  by  the  copyist. 


56  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

h.  Gregory  will  not  leave  the  rock  until  the  tablets  are  found  (p. 
107). 

These  examples  show  what  is  general.  Fr.  has  no  tendency  to 
agree  with  I'b.  against  Gr. 

6.  The  parts  of  Vb.  which  are  lacking  in  Gr.  are  also  lacking  in  Fr. 
Such  are  the  numerous  moralizations,  as : 

a.  p.  87,  on  the  death  of  Gregory's  father. 

b.  p.  95,  on  fate  which  brings  Gregory  to  the  land  of  his  mother. 
This  is  God's  will. 

c.  p.  104,  on  the  idea  that  one  may  sin  without  knowing  it,  with 
quotations  from  the  Bible. 

d.  p.  108,  on  the  goodness  of  Gregory,  who  atones  for  the  sins  of 
his  parents. 

e.  pp.  111-112,  on  the  idea  that  God  leads  his  elect  over  a  narrow  and 
rough  path,  because  it  is  the  safest  road  to  heaven. 

These  were  added  by  the  German  translator,  who  was  fond  of 
moralizing. 

These  examples  show  from  another  point  of  view  what  has  been 
indicated  in  (5).     Vb.  has  no  tendency  to  agree  with  Fr.  against  Gr. 

One  could  multiply  the  examples  under  these  six  heads.  They 
show  a  condition  which  exists  throughout  the  three  versions. 

Our  conclusions  then  are  as  follows : 

A.  The  fact  that  Vb.  is  simpler  than  Fr.  does  not  prove  that  it  is 
older.  A  writer  of  the  15th  or  i6th  century,  reworking  in  prose  an  older 
composition,  would  be  tempted  to  simplify  it.  The  German  translator 
deviated  from  his  original  in  certain  cases  because  of  his  religion. 

B.  I  have  shown  that  Fr.,  Gr.,  and  Vb.  are  very  closely  related. 
I  have  also  shown  ( i )  that  certain  cases  where  Gr.  and  Vb.  are  shorter 
than  Fr.  are  due  to  the  fact  that  the  translators  abbreviated  intentionally  ; 

(2)  that  where  the  three  versions  differ  it  is  often  possible  to  see  a 
continuous  development  of  the  deviation  from  Fr.  to  Vb.  through  Gr., 
( T,)  that  Fr.  often  agrees  with  Gr.  against  Vb.,  and  (4)  that  Gr.  often 
agrees  with  P'b.  against  Fr.:  accordingly  that  Gr.  must  lie  between  Fr. 
and  Vb.;  (5)  that  where  Fr.  fails  to  agree  with  Gr.  it  also  fails  to  agree 
with  Vb.;  and  (6)  that  where  Vb.  fails  to  agree  with  Gr.  it  also  fails  to 
agree  with  Fr.    These  two  facts  corroborate  the  conclusion  derived  from 

(3)  and  (4). 

Now  as  Gr.  is  a  translation  of  Fr.,  the  only  possible  conclusion  is 
that  Vb.  is  a  translation  of  Gr.  Accordingly  Vb.  if  of  minor  importance 
and  Fr.  must  be  regarded  as  the  oldest  form  of  the  legend. 


SPENSER'S    "FAERIE    OUEENE,"    III,    ii,    AND    BOCCACCIO'S 

'TIAMMETTA  " 

William  Dinsmore  Briggs 

SPENSER  drew  from  many  sources  that  have  been  pointed  out.  I 
do  not  think  that  the  indebtedness  of  Faerie  Oueene.  Ill,  ii,  to  the 
Fiammetta  of  Boccaccio  has  yet  been  noticed. 

The  Fiammetta  is  an  interesting  and  remarkable  work  that  displays 
on  the  part  of  its  author  a  power  of  close  psychological  observation  and 
analysis  somewhat  akin  to  that  of  Henry  James,  and  is  in  the  form  of  a 
narrative  of  emotional  experiences  undergone  by  the  teller  of  the  story, 
Fiammetta  herself.  Engaged  in  a  liaison  with  Panfilo,  she  is,  though 
rich,  noble,  and  beautiful,  deserted  by  him  under  pretence  that  he  must 
for  the  short  space  of  three  or  four  months  attend  upon  his  father,  who 
in  his  old  age  desires  the  presence  of  his  only  remaining  son.  Panfilo, 
however,  never  returns,  and  Fiammetta,  who  has  loved  him  passionately, 
relates  for  the  benefit  of  easily  deceived  womankind  the  emotional 
history  of  the  episode,  how  first  she  fell  in  love  with  Panfilo,  how  she 
came  to  sacrifice  for  him  her  wifely  honor,  how  she  felt  deep  dejection 
during  the  early  period  of  his  absence,  and  how,  when  he  did  not  return 
at  the  appointed  time,  bewildered  anxiety  and  finally  profound  despair 
overcame  her. 

Of  course  Spenser  in  the  canto  referred  to  relates  no  such  harrowing 
story.  Britomart  has  seen  the  image  of  Arthegal  in  the  magic  mirror 
and  is  smitten  with  deep  love  for  him.  Perturbed  by  a  series  of  emotions 
wholly  new  to  her.  she  displays  signs  of  mental  struggle  readily  percept- 
ible to  the  eager  solicitude  of  her  nurse  Glance.  As  a  result  of  the  ensuing 
conversation.  Glance  suggests  the  visit  to  Merlin's  cavern,  there  to  learn 
what  may  be  the  outcome  of  so  strange  a  situation. 

Fiammetta,  it  may  be  observed,  has  several  conversations  with  her 
foster-mother,  and  it  is  in  one  of  these  that  there  occur  certain  resem- 
blances worth  taking  note  of.  Before  doing  so,  however,  one  might 
consider  F.  Q.  Ill,  ii,  27-8: 

Thenceforth  the  fether  in  her  lofty  crest. 
Rufifed  of  love,  gan  lowly  to  availe. 
And  her  prowd  portaunce  and  her  princely  gest, 
With  which  she  earst  tryumphed,  now  did  quaile: 


58  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

Sad,  solemne,  sowre,  and  full  of  fancies  fraile 

She  woxe ;   .    .    . 

But  sleepe  full  far  away  from  her  did  fly : 

In  stead  thereof  sad  sighes  and  sorrowes  deepe 

Kept  watch  and  ward  about  her  warily. 

That  nought  she  did  but  wayle,  and  often  stcepe 

Her  dainty  couch  with  teares,  which  closely  she  did  weepe. 

Compare  Fiammetta,  pp.  28-9  (my  only  accessible  text  is  that  of  the 
Biblioteca  Classica  Economica)  :  Egli  allora  in  me  le  fiamme  accese  faces 
pill  vive  .  .  .  ma  in  questo  non  era  si  lieto  il  principio,  che  la  fine  no' 
rimanesse  piu  trista,  qualora  della  vista  di  quello  rimanea  privata:  per- 
ciocche  li  occhi,  della  loro  allegrezza  privati,  davano  al  cuore  nojosa 
cagione  di  dolersi,  di  che  i  sospiri,  in  quantita  ed  in  qualita  diventavano 
maggiori,  ed  il  disio,  quasi  ogni  mio  sentimento  occupando.  mi  toglieva 
di  me  medesima.  .  .  .  Ed  oltre  a  questo  sovente  la  notturna  quiete  ed  il 
continovo  cibo  togliendomi,  alcuna  volta  ad  atti  piu  furiosi  che  siibiti,  ed  a 
parole  mi  moveano  inusitate. 

xxix. 

And  if  that  any  drop  of  slombring  rest 

Did  chaunce  to  still  into  her  weary  spright, 

When  feeble  nature  felt  her  selfe  opprest, 

Streight  way  with  dreames.  and  with  fantastick  sight 

Of  dreadfull  things,  the  same  was  put  to  flight. 

That  oft  out  of  her  bed  she  did  astart, 

As  one  with  vew  of  ghastly  feends  affright : 

Tho  gan  she  to  renew  her  former  smart. 

And  thinke  of  that  fayre  visage,  written  in  her  hart. 

Fiammetta  has  many  evil  dreams,  as  on  p.  70:  Le  quali  [le  notti]  sovente, 
o  tutte  o  gran  parte  di  loro,  io  passava  senza  dormire,  continovamente, 
o  piangendo,  o  pensando  consumandole :  e  qualora  pure  avveniva  che  io 
dormissi,  diversamente  era  da'  sogni  occupata,  alcuni  lieti  vegnenti,  ed 
alcuni  tristissimi.  And  again,  p.  73 :  Non  veniva,  ancorche  il  sonno 
venisse,  pero  in  me  la  disiata  pace,  anzi,  in  luogo  de'  pensieri  e  delle 
lagrime,  mille  visioni  piene  d'infinite  paure  mi  spaventavano.  Io  credo 
che  niuna  furia  rimanesse  nella  citta  di  Dite,  che  in  diversi  modi 
e  terribili  gia  piu  volte  non  mi  si  mostrasse,  diversi  mali  minacciando, 
e  spesso,  col  loro  orribile  aspetto  i  miei  sonni  rompendo,  di  che  io,  quasi 
per  non  vederle,  mi  contentava. 

It  is  important  that  in  both  stories  the  nurse  detects  these  signs  of 
mental  distress. 


FAERIE  QUEENE  AND  FIAMMETTA  —  BRIGG*  59 


XXX. 


'Ah !  my  deare  daughter,  ah !  my  dearest  dread, 
What  uncouth  fit,'  sayd  she,  'what  evill  pHght. 
Hath  thee  opprest,  and  with  sad  drearyhead 
Chaunged  thy  Hvely  cheare.  and  Hving  made  thee  dead  ? 

xxxi. 

'For  not  of  nought  these  suddein  ghastly  feares 
All  night  afflict  thy  naturall   repose.' 

Fiammetta,  p.  29:  O  figliuola  a  me  come  me  medesima  cara.  quali 
sollecitudini,  da  poco  tempo  in  qua  ti  stimolano?  Tu  niuna  ora  trapassi 
senza  sospiri,  la  quale  altra  volta  lieta,  e  senza  alcuna  malinconia  sempre 
vedere  solea. 

xxxiii. 

'Ay  me !  how  much  I  feare  least  love  it  bee !' 

Fiammetta,  p.  29 :  elli  non  ti  e  bisogno  celarmi  quello  che  io,  gia  sono  piii 
giorni,  in  te  manifestamente  conobbi. 

xH. 

'Not  so  th'  Arabian  Myrrhe  did  sett  her  mynd, 

Nor  so  did  Biblis  spend  her  pining  hart, 

But  lov'd  their  native  flesh  against  al  kynd. 

And  to  their  purpose  used  wicked  art : 

Yet  playd  Pasiphae  a  more  monstrous  part. 

That  lov'd  a  bul,  and  learnd  a  beast  to  bee : 

Such  shamefull  lusts  who  loaths  not,  which  depart 

From  course  of  nature  and  of  modestee? 

Swete  Love  such  lewdnes  bands  from  his  faire  companee. 

Fiammetta,  p.  35 :  Bastiti  solamente,  o  giovane,  che  di  non  abominevole 
fuoco,  come  Mirra,  Semiramis,  Bibli,  Canace,  e  Cleopatra  fece,  ti  molesti. 
Niuna  cosa  nuova  dal  nostro  [it  is  Venus  speaking  to  Fiammetta  in  a 
vision]  figliuolo  verso  te  sara  operata:  egli  ha  cosi  leggi,  come  qualunquc 
altro  Iddio.    A  few  lines  before  Venus  had  mentioned  also  Pasiphae. 

A  still  more  significant  parallel  is  the  following.  Tn  the  stanza 
just  quoted,  Glauce  was  attempting  to  console  Britomart  by  contrasting 
her  love  with  such  unnatural  passions  as  those  enumerated.  Britomart 
replies  in  stanza  xliii: 


60  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

'Beldame,  your  words  doe  worke  me  litle  ease; 

For  though  my  love  be  not  so  lewdly  bent 

As  those  ye  blame,  yet  may  it  nought  appease 

My  raging  smart,  ne  ought  my  flame  relent, 

But  rather  doth  my  helpelesse  griefe  augment. 

For  they,  how  ever  shamefull  and  unkinde. 

Yet  did  possesse  their  horrible  intent : 

Short  end  of  sorowes  they  therby  did  finde ; 

So  was  their  fortune  good,  though  wicked  were  their  minde. 

xliv. 

'But  wicked  fortune  mine,  though  minde  be  good, 
Can  have  no  end,  nor  hope  of  my  desire, 
But  feed  on  shadowes,'  etc. 

In  the  last  part  of  her  narrative,  Fiammetta  attempts  to  win  sympathy 
from  her  readers  by  contrasting  her  love  affair  with  all  the  great  love 
affairs  of  antiquity,  and  showing  in  how  much  more  pitiable  a  case  she 
is  than  any  of  those  famous  heroines.  In  the  course  of  this  comparison. 
Myrrha,  Biblis,  and  Canace  are  once  more  spoken  of,  and  Fiammetta 
(p.  128)  goes  on:  e  meco  stessa  pensando  bene  all'  angoscia  di  ciascuna, 
senza  alcun  dubbio  grandissime  le  discerno,  avvengache  abominevoli 
fossero  i  loro  amori.  Ma,  se  ben  considero,  io  le  veggo  finite,  o  per 
finire  in  corto  spazio,  perciocche  Mirra  nell'  albero  del  suo  nome,  avendo 
gli  Dii  secondi  al  suo  disio,  senza  alcuno  indugio  fuggendo  fu  permutata, 
ne  pill  (ancor  che  egli  sempre  lagrimi,  siccome  ella  allora  che  muto  forma 
faceva)  alcuna  delle  sue  pene  senti ;  e  cosi  come  la  cagione  di  dolersi 

venne,  cosi  quella  giunse  che  le  tolse  la  doglia.    Biblis  similmente 

Che  dunque  diro,  mostrando  la  mia  pena  molto  maggiore  che  quella  di 
queste  donne,  se  non  che  la  brevita  della  loro  dalla  lunghezza  della  mia 
molto  e  avanzata? 

In  stanza  xlvi  Glauce  advises  Britomart  to  fight  against  'the  growing 
evill,  ere  it  strength  have  gott.'  'Against  it  strongly  strive,  and  yield  thee 
nott.  Til  thou  in  open  fielde  adowne  be  smott.'  This  advice  is  perhaps 
a  little  inconsistent  with  the  earlier  tone  of  Glance's  speeches,  since  she 
had  apparently  approved  Britomart's  passion  and  even  encouraged  her 
by  showing  its  innocence  and  suggesting  the  likelihood  that  the  original 
of  the  image  might  be  found  out  with  no  great  difficulty.  I  am  inclined, 
perhaps  too  sanguinely,  to  see  here  an  echo  of  the  remonstrance  urged 
so  often  by  the  nurse  of  Fiammetta.  particularly  in  such  a  passage  as 
this,  p.  30:  mi  place  di  ricordarti  e  di  pregarti,  che  tu  del  casto  petto 
esturbi  e  cacci  via  le  cose  nefande,  e  ispegnia  le  disoneste  fiamme,  .  .  . 


i 


FAERIE  QUEENE  AND  FIAMMETTA  —  BRIGGS  61 

e  ora  e  tempo  da  resistere  con  forza,  pero  che  chi  nel  principio  bene 
contrastette,  caccio  il  villano  amore,  etc. 

A  resemblance  to  which  I  call  attention  merely  for  the  sake  of 
completing  the  list  of  those  that  I  have  observed  is  that  Glance  employs 
without  success  enchantments  for  the  purpose  of  expelhng  love  from 
Britomart's  breast,  while  Fiammetta  employs  them  as  vainly,  p.  ii8,  in 
order  to  influence  her  recreant  lover. 

This  discussion  does  not  of  course  prove  that  Spenser  was  imitating 
Boccaccio,  nor  is  it  in  the  least  intended  to  do  so.  Nor  can  we  say  as 
a  result  of  it  that  Spenser  was  consciously  making  use  of  Boccaccio.  1 
think,  however,  it  does  establish  a  likelihood  not  merely  that  he  had,  as  is 
on  a  priori  grounds  quite  probable,  at  some  time  or  other  read  the 
Fiammetta  attentively,  but  that  reminiscences  of  that  reading  came  quite 
naturally  to  hand  when  dealing  with  the  subject  of  the  second  canto  of 
Book  III.  It  is  not  surprising  that  such  should  have  been  the  case,  that 
the  Fiammetta  should  have  made  some  impression  upon  Spenser. 
Boccaccio's  work,  if  we  look  aside  from  certain  rhetorical  expansions  of 
the  theme  such  as  chapter  viii,  and  if  we  consider  what  obstacles  were 
set  in  the  way  of  close  analysis  of  real  passion  by  the  conventional 
conception  of  the  relation  of  lover  to  mistress  (compare  the  relatively 
stereotyped  Ameto),  was  the  product  of  a  hand  as  sure  and  an  insight  as 
delicately  penetrant  as  were  those  that  created  Clarissa  Harlowe. 


SOME    PHASES    OF   MARTIAL'S    LITERARY    ATTITUDE 

Jefferson  Elmore 

WE  MAY  first  consider^  the  grounds  of  Martial's  preference  for  the 
epigram.  He  was  confined  to  this  type,  it  is  sometimes  said, 
by  consciousness  of  intellectual  limitations,  exercising  thereby 
"a  wise  restraint."-  What  Martial  himself  says,  however,  hardly  warrants 
this  impression.  He  but  seldom  depreciates  his  literary  talents,^  his  prev- 
alent mood  being  rather  of  an  opposite  character.  Moreover,  he  more 
than  once  distinctly  asserts  his  ability  to  practice  the  higher  literary  forms 
such  as  the  epic  and  tragedy.  "What  immortal  verse  I  could  have 
written,"  he  says,  "what  blasts  of  war  I  could  have  blown  on  Pierian 
trumpet,"  if  only  happier  conditions  of  life  had  been  present.*  Indeed, 
(though  he  is  here  speaking  with  humorous  exaggeration)  he  began  with 
the  epic,  but  was  driven  from  this  field  and  also  from  tragedy  by  the  in- 
sistent imitation  of  Tucca.^ 

It  is  in  contrast  to  tragedy  and  the  epic  that  Martial  usually 
expresses  his  preference  for  the  epigram.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  he  has 
not  in  mind  the  epos  in  general,  not  the  work  of  Vergil,  who  is  to  him 
the  supreme  poet,**  nor  even  that  of  Lucan  and  Silius  Italicus,  for  both 
of  whom  he  has  apparently  the  greatest  admiration,'  but  he  thinks  rather 
of  certain  fashionable  contemporary  forms,  such  as  the  long  drawn  epic 
with  its  mythological  theme.  The  epigram  is  superior  to  these,  first,  in 
the  fact  that  it  makes  a  much  wider  appeal.  Long  epics  and  bombastic 
tragedies,  though  greeted  with  words  of  praise  and  read  by  the  pompous 
schoolmaster  to  his  pupils,®  arouse  no  real  interest  either  in  ingenuous 

'  References  to  the  poet's  own  literary  experiences  and  judgments  appear  in 
117  of  the  1172  epigrams  of  books  I-XII.  These  "notices"  form  the  basis  of  the 
present  paper.  Though  often  drawn  upon  by  editors  and  critics,  as  far  as  I  am 
aware  they  have  not  been  brought  together  with  a  view  to  basing  statements  of 
Martial's  attitude  in  literary  matters  on  all  the  evidence  of  this  character.  Criticism 
thus  not  seldom  rests  on  a  too  narrow  foundation,  as  in  the  statement  of  Mackail. 
(Latin  Literature,  p.  194),  based  apparently  on  a  single  epigram,  I  16,  that  "to  his 
own  work  Martial  extends  the  same  tolerance  with  which  he  views  the  follies  and 
vices  of  society."  Compare  the  remarks  of  Nisard  (Poetes  Latins  de  la  Decadence, 
p.  329  ff.). 

•Stephenson,  Introd.  XIX      Cf.  Post,  Introd.  XXVT. 

•Cf.  I   16,  i;  TIT   100,  4;  XTII  2,  9.      *XI  3.  7-    Cf.  V   16,  i  Seria  cum  possim  .  .  . 
•XII   94.  'XT   52.    18.  'I V  14,  VII   21;  22;  23.  8VIII3.  15- 


Martial's  literary  attitude  —  elmore  63 

youth  or  in  the  general  pubHc.  Epigrams,  on  the  other  hand,  as  experi- 
ence showed,  are  taken  up  and  read  with  eagerness  by  all  classes  of 
society.^  To  Martial,  to  whom  literature  is  a  means  (among  other  things) 
of  getting  on  in  the  world,^°  a  medium  through  which  he  can  appeal  to 
the  public,  to  distinguished  men,"  to  the  emperor  himself/-  is  very  much 
to  his  hand. 

Epigrams  are  not  only  more  interesting  than  the  usual  epics  or 
tragedies,  but  their  subject-matter  is  also  more  useful.  Savage  cr 
frivolous  tales  have  no  profit,  whereas  short  sketches  of  real  life  may  be 
full  of  instruction  and  guidance.  This  point  is  emphasized  in  two  notable 
epigrams.  In  one^'  addressing  the  reader  the  poet  says,  "When  you  are 
reading  of  Oedipus  and  Thyestes  and  Medea  and  the  Scyllas,  are  you  not 
dealing  with  the  monstrous  creations  of  fable?  What  profit  will  there 
be  to  you  in  the  story  of  Hylas  or  Parthenopaeus  or  Attis,  or  even  in 
that  of  the  sleeping  Endymion  ?  Read  rather  this  book  of  mine  of  which 
life  itself  could  say,  T  am  its  author.'  You  will  not  find  centaurs  or 
gorgons  or  harpies,  but  pages  steeped  in  human  nature." 

Again,  in  the  fullness  of  his  fame,  the  poet  had  thought  with  the 
completion  of  the  seventh  book  to  lay  down  the  pen  of  the  epigrammatist, 
but  the  Muse  forbids.^*  "Continue,"  she  bids  him,  "to  season  thy 
charming  volumes  with  Roman  wit  and  let  life  as  she  reads  recognize 
herself.  And  though  thou  mayest  seem  to  play  on  but  a  slender  pipe, 
this  reed  of  thine  may  vanquish  many  a  brazen  trumpet." 

The  reference  here  to  a  longer  survival  in  the  future  points  to  a 
third  respect  in  which  Martial  asserts  the  superiority  of  the  epigram,, 
namely,  that  it  is  a  higher  form  of  art.  In  the  first  place  it  requires 
greater  skill  on  the  part  of  the  author.  "He  makes  a  great  mistake  who 
regards  epigrams  as  mere  trifles.  The  trifler  is  rather  the  man  who  writes 
about  the  feast  of  the  cruel  Tereus,  or  the  banquet  of  the  unnatural 
Thyestes,  or  of  Daedalus  fitting  waxen  wings  to  his  son,  or  of  Polyphe- 
mus pasturing  his  Sicilian  flocks.  From  my  work,  however,  is  banished 
all  this  swelling  bombast."'^  Martial  expresses  his  conviction  on  this 
point  also  in  terms  of  sculpture.  Comparing  his  own  work  to 
twelve  books  on  the  ancient  wars  of  Priam  is  like  comparing  the  famous 
marble  (or  bronze)  boy  of  Brutus  to  a  huge  giant  in  clay.^" 

In  the  practice  of  this  special  literary  type  Martial  gives  frequent 
expression  to  the  feeling  that  he  is  working  in  the  line  of  a  definite 
tradition.     He  appeals  to  precedent  to  defend  himself  against  certain 


•XI  24,6-8.  "T  5.  "VI    I. 

«V  I.  "X  4-  "VIII    3,   19- 

"IV  49.  "IX    50,  5- 


64  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

criticisms.  To  one  who  finds  the  epigrams  too  long  he  cites  the  example 
of  Marsus  and  Pedo,  who  often  extended  single  poems  over  two  whole 
pages.^"  So  also  in  meeting  the  more  serious  charge  of  licentiousness 
he  resorts  to  the  same  argument.  That  this  wantonness  of  speech  (which 
is  also  characteristic  of  the  stage) ^'^  is  employed  in  epigrams  addressed 
even  to  persons  in  the  highest  position^^  is  admitted  by  the  poet,  but  he 
does  not  apologize  for  it,  because  he  did  not  himself  invent  the  custom.^" 
Then  again  for  the  confusion  of  the  prudish  reader  he  quotes  the  six 
lascivious  lines  of  Augustus  himself.-^  Finally  he  appeals  to  the 
precedent  of  Lucan,  "the  glory  of  our  Helicon,"  who,  though  sounding 
savage  wars  on  Pierian  trumpet,  has  not  blushed  to  turn  aside  and  in 
lighter  verse  to  disport  himself  most  wantonly.--  Martial  also  refers  to 
tradition  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  in  some  respects  at  least  he  has 
improved  upon  the  earlier  practice.  One  relates  to  the  structure  of  his 
verse.  He  does  not  tolerate  the  harshness  which  is  found  in  the  older 
poets  like  Lucilius,  Accius,  and  Pacuvius.  and  which  does  not  constitute 
true  vigor.-"  He  does  not  waste  time  in  constructing  ingenious  verses 
that  may  be  read  backwards,  nor  does  he  imitate  the  effeminate  Galliambic 
in  the  Attis  of  Catullus.-*  In  not  disregarding  through  poetic  license 
the  quantity  of  syllables  he  is  more  careful  than  the  Greeks.^'''  He  is  also 
superior  to  his  predecessors  in  the  consideration  he  shows  for  actual 
persons  by  the  use  of  fictitious  names.  The  older  poets  were  wont  to 
employ  not  only  real  names  in  their  attacks  but  also  great  ones.-"  He 
will  not  even  reveal  the  identity  of  Postumus,  a  name  which  frequently 
occurs,  for  fear  of  giving  offense.-'  His  verse,  he  keeps  saying,  injures 
no  one,  though  some  mentioned  by  way  of  praise  have  been  given  undying 
fame.    Vices,  not  persons,  are  the  object  of  his  satire.-^ 

Consideration  of  Martial's  relation  to  his  predecessors  raises  the 
important  question  whether  with  respect  to  the  form  of  the  epigram  as  a 
whole  he  was  also  working  in  the  line  of  tradition.  There  has  been  a 
wide-spread  opinion  that  through  the  use  of  the  so-called  point  he  created 
a  new  type  of  epigram.  Lessing-®  maintained  that  he  was  the  first  to 
practice  the  epigram  as  a  special  type,  a  view  which  is  quoted  with 
approval  by  Friedlander.^''     "Until  he  wrote,"  says  Aly,^^  also  quoting 

"II    -jT,  5.  "Ill    86,  3.                                     "Praef.  VIIT,   10. 

•°  Praef.  I,  10.  "  XI    20,    3-8.                                  "^  X    64,  3-6. 

"XI    90.  "II   86,  T-6.                                   ""IX    II,  16. 

"Praef.  I,  5.  "H     23.                "V    15.  2;  VII    12,  3;  X   %  z;  33,    10. 
^  Anmerkungen  iibcr  das  Epigramm.     Samtliche  Schriften   (ed.  Lachmann)   XI 

257.     Martial  .  .  .  war  der  erste  der  sich  eine  deutliche,  feste  Idee  von  dem  Epi- 
gramme  machte. 

•°  Einleitung,  18.  "  Geschichte  der  Romischen  Literatur,  p.  286. 


MARTIAL  S  LITERARY  ATTITUDE  —  ELMORE  65 

Lessing  with  approval,  "there  was  really  no  epigrammatist."  Bernhardy^- 
calls  him  the  discoverer  and  master  of  the  pointed  epigram,  while  Butler 
in  his  recent  work^^  speaks  of  him  as  the  father  of  the  modern  epigram. 
Martial  "was  able,"  says  Post,"**  "to  fix  forever  the  character  of  this 
particular  literary  form." 

Martial  himself,  however,  makes  no  mention  of  this  originality, 
though  it  might  be  expected  that  he  would  do  so.  He  was,  as  we 
know,  one  of  the  most  self-conscious  of  authors.  He  exploits  himself 
and  his  work  in  the  most  extensive  and  unreserved  fashion,  and  yet 
he  nowhere  gives  any  intimation  that  he  is  the  inventor  of  a  new 
literary  type.  It  must  also  be  remembered  that  there  were  contemporary 
writers  of  epigram.  Were  these  imitators  of  Martial  or  was  his 
work  different  in  kind  from  theirs?  There  is  no  evidence  of  either 
of  these  things.  To  these  fellow  workers  of  his  Martial  hands  out 
both  praise  and  blame,  the  latter,  as  might  be  expected,  in  great  pre- 
dominance. One  writes  on  both  sides  of  the  paper  f^  another  cannot 
even  compose  a  distich  that  is  not  too  long  f^  another  is  uniformly  bad  f' 
another  (in  moral  tone)  is  uniformly  good  but  lacking  even  a  touch  of 
biting  wit  f~'^  still  another  has  not  the  courage  to  publish  at  all,^*  while 
one  has  the  distinction  of  being  superior  to  Martial  himself,  but  does  not 
publicly  enter  the  field  out  of  courtesy  to  his  friend.''^  In  all  this  there  is 
no  suggestion  of  imitation  on  the  one  hand  or  of  the  possession  of  a 
peculiar  form  of  epigram  on  the  other. 

The  argument  from  silence  raises  a  presumption  against  the  accepted 
view.  The  crucial  question  of  course  is  whether  the  type  of  epigram 
employed  by  Alartial  can  be  traced  in  an  earlier  author.  For  this  purpose 
we  require  first  of  all  to  know  what  forms  of  the  epigram  Martial  really 
employed.  An  analysis  will  show  that  in  some  cases  (though  they  are 
comparatively  few)  the  so-called  point  is  virtually  lacking.^"  If  such 
pieces  as  I  113,  where  Martial  informs  his  readers  that  his  youthful 
poems  could  be  obtained  from  Q.  Pollius  Valerianus,  or  IV  25,  in  which 
he  hopes  to  spend  his  old  age  at  Altinum,  or  V  44,  in  which  he 
chides  a  fickle  dinner  guest,  should  be  found  elsewhere  they  would 
hardly  be  associated  with  the  pointed  epigram.  Note  also  IX  11,  which  is 
a  series  of  hendecasyllabic  lines  quite  "pointless"  at  the  end. 

The  bulk  of  Martial's  work,  however,  is  distinguished  for  its  "point," 


"  Grundriss,  p.  658.  ''  Post-Augustan  Poetry,  pp.  258-9. 

"Introduction,    XXV.  ''VIII    62,  i.            '"U    77,  8.                 "VII    90.    4- 

"'«VII    25,  3.  'M  91,  2;   no,  2.                        ''VIII    18,  4. 

"Cf.  I  52;  113;  116;  III  6;  IV  13;  25;  45;  54;  VI  25;  58;  85;  VIII  27;  IX 

74. 


II.  74 


66 


MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 


which  may  be  regarded  as  essentially  a  striking  method  of  conclusion  and 
which  may  be  related  in  various  ways  to  what  precedes.  It  may  be,  for 
example,  a  comment  or  judgment  of  the  author  on  some  foregoing 
situation,  fact,  or  event ;"  it  may  be  an  antithesis,'*-  a  reason  or  explana- 
tion,''^ a  result  or  consequence,*^  an  exhortation,*-'^  a  climax,*®  a  retort,*' 
the  second  member  of  a  comparison,**  a  choice  of  alternatives,*^  the 
solution  of  a  difficulty/"  an  illustration  or  example,"^  a  specific  statement 
or  a  general  principle.'*-  These  categories,"  which  are  not  at  all  numerous 
considering  the  large  number  of  the  epigrams,  give  certain  definite 
types  of  structure  within  the  range  of  which  the  poet's  chief  work  is 
done.  The  question  is  whether  any  of  these  types  are  to  be  found 
outside  of  Martial.  One  turns  at  once  to  Catullus.  Here  the  way  is 
smoothed  by  the  recent  recognition^*  of  the  fact  that  Catullus  is  himself 
primarily  an  epigrammatist,  the  claims  of  Horace  to  the  primacy  of  the 
Latin  lyric  being  thus  left  undisputed.  If  the  hendecasyllabic  pieces  of 
Catullus  be  examined  they  will  be  found  to  reveal  several  types  of 
structure  which  are  characteristic  of  Martial.  In  c.  26  we  have  an 
example  of  a  point  which  consists  in  the  comment  of  the  author  on  a 
preceding  fact.  Furius  has  exposed  his  house  not  to  the  blasts  of  real 
winds,  west,  east,  or  north,  but  to  the  drafts  of  creditors.  "xA.nd  what 
an  awful,  fatal  draft  it  is,"  adds  the  author  by  way  of  comment  and 
conclusion.  In  Martial  III  52,  Tongilianus  has  lost  his  house  by  fire 
but  has  received  more  than  the  cost  in  donations.  "I  suspect,"  he  adds 
by  way  of  point,  "that  you  set  the  fire  with  your  own  hands."  Likewise 
when  Apicius^^  commits  suicide  because  he  cannot  think  of  sustaining 
life  on  his  remaining  ten  millions,  Martial  makes  the  "point"  by  remark- 
ing quite  after  the  manner  of  Catullus  how  befitting  an  epicure  such  an 
action  was.  In  c.  4  Catullus  employs  the  method  of  antithesis,  the 
conclusion  contrasting  the  old  age.  so  to  speak,  of  the  yacht  with  its 
adventures  of  former  times.  So  in  c.  95  (written  in  elegiacs)  where  the 
judicious  applaud  the  work  of  Cinna,  but  the  populace  take  pleasure 
in  the  pompous  Antimachus.  In  c.  3  the  point  is  exhibited  as  result  or 
consequence,  the  lament  for  the  sparrow  being  concluded  by  a  striking 

"V  35.  "VII   9-  ""IX   22. 

"VII    13.  ^'III    16.  '"IX    13- 

«II   58.  "IV   14.  ^'VI   81. 

'"Ill    38.  "VII   49-  "'VI    70. 

°'The  categories  given  here  and  based  on  an  analysis  of  the  epigrams  in  books 
I-IX  do  not  altogether  exhaust  the  list. 

"Cf.  Smith,  Amer.  Jour.  Phil.  XXXI  p.  225;  Canter  Class  Jour.  VI  201.  For 
the  wide  range  of  the  epigram  in  general  see  U.  von  Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, 
Die  Griechische  Literatur  des  Aliertums,  pp.  139  fol.  "  III    22. 


Martial's  literary  attitude  —  elmore  67 

reference  to  the  weeping  eyes  of  Lesbia.^®  As  an  example  of  a  point 
which  is  an  exhortation  to  some  action  in  view  of  the  preceding  statement 
or  fact,  we  may  take  c.  5.  "Life  is  short,"  the  poet  says  to  Lesbia,  "and 
there  is  nothing  beyond.  Let  us  therefore  enjoy  our  love  to  the  utmost." 
c.  84  illustrates  the  process  of  constructing  an  epigram  by  means  of 
the  climax.  Arrius  in  his  fondness  for  the  "h"  says  not  only  chommoda, 
and  hinsidias,  but  also  Hionios.  In  c.  10  we  find  the  epigram  consisting 
of  a  pointed  incident  in  which  dialogue  is  also  employed  in  true  epigram- 
matic fashion.  Finally  in  c.  70  the  point  is  a  general  principle  including 
and  explaining  a  specific  instance.  "My  beloved,"  says  the  poet,  "declares 
she  will  never  marry  though  Jupiter  himself  seek  her  hand.  So  she  says, 
but  a  woman's  words  to  an  ardent  wooer  are  written  on  sand  or  in 
running  water." 

In  Catullus  then  we  find  certain  forms  of  the  epigram  which  are 
employed  by  Martial  with  great  frequency.  If  this  be  true,  the  pointed 
epigram  as  a  literary  type  did  not  originate  with  Martial.  In  his  hands 
with  his  powerful  massing  of  striking  details  it  becomes  something 
distinctive  and  characteristic,  but  it  is  still  in  the  line  of  tradition. 

That  Martial  was  under  great  technical  obligations  to  Catullus  is 
shown  by  his  imitation  of  the  latter's  language  and  style,  a  phase  of  the 
subject  which  has  been  set  forth  by  Paukstadt.  Martial  himself  does  not 
refer  directly  to  obligations  of  this  sort  except  possibly  in  the  one  case 
where  he  pleads  the  example  of  his  predecessor  to  justify  the  licentious- 
ness of  some  of  his  work.^'  A  question  which  has  not  received  sufficient 
consideration  is  the  ground  of  Martial's  admiration  for  Catullus.  The 
latter  is  argutus,^^  doctus,^^  lepidiis,^°  tener,^^  tenuis,^^  and  finally  vates,^^ 
the  inspired  bard.  His  place  too  in  the  world  of  letters  is  an  ideal  to  which 
Martial  constantly  aspires.  He  would  be  to  his  own  Bilbilis  what  Catullus 
had  been  to  Verona,  and  he  sends  a  copy  of  his  book  to  Silius  Italicus  in 
the  spirit  in  which  he  imagined  Catullus  might  have  ofifered  his  work  to 
Vergil. ^^  In  reading  some  of  his  verses  to  a  friend,  it  annoyed  him  to 
have  the  latter  reply  with  a  passage  from  Catullus,  making  unconsciously 
a  comparison  which  no  modern  author  could  sustain  with  credit.^^  He 
wishes  to  be  recommended  to  the  emperor  as  one  who  has  added  to  the 
glory  of  the  age,  and  who  is  not  much  inferior  to  Marsus  and  Catullus  f' 
it  is  next  to  these  that  he  desires  his  books  stand  in  the  Palatine  library."* 


"Cf.   c.    105.  "Praef.   I     u.  "VI    34.7. 

"I  61,  i;  VII  99,  7;  VIII  73,  8;  XIV    100,  i;  152,  i.  ""XII   44.  5- 

"  IV  14,  13  ;  VII   14,  3  .  ""X  103,5-  '"I   61,  I. 

"X   103,  4-  "IV    14,  13-  '•"    71.  3. 

'■VII    99,  7-  "V   5,  6. 


68  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

He  hopes  finally  to  be  read  among  the  old  poets  and  to  rank  second  to 
none  but  Catullus.*'^  This  admiration  rests  doubtless  in  part  on  Catullus' 
greatness  as  a  poet  and  on  the  fact  that  they  were  both  engaged  in  the 
same  poetic  field.  There  is  another  reason,  I  think,  to  which  Martial 
himself  gives  a  clue  in  the  part  of  Catullus'  work  which  he  singles  out  for 
special  mention.  Aside  from  the  Attis  (mentioned  once"")  this  is  the 
part  which  deals  with  the  Lesbia  episode.'^  On  the  details  of  Catullus' 
love  affair  Martial  dwells  with  evident  gusto  and  delight.  Considering 
this  fact  and  the  part  which  the  erotic  element  plays  in  his  own  work,  it 
is  not  difficult  to  see  that  he  was  attracted  by  a  certain  kind  of  subject 
matter.  Like  Catullus  he  rejoiced  in  the  pleasures  of  sense,  and  this  may 
well  have  been  one  of  the  great  bonds  that  linked  him  to  the  earlier 
poet.'^ 

So  much  intimation  has  Martial  given  us  of  his  fondness  for  subjects 
of  a  certain  kind.  He  has  also  made  one  reference'^  to  an  important 
phase  of  his  methods  in  dealing  with  his  subject  matter  in  general.  I 
mean  the  recurrence  to  the  same  theme.  This  reference  is  apropos  of  a 
good  natured  criticism  made  by  his  friend  Stella,  that  he  was  forever 
writing  about  animals,  about  the  gambols  of  the  hares  and  the  play  of  the 
lions,  and  IMartial  does  nothing  more  than  banteringly  admit  the  charge. 
The  repetition  in  this  case  comes  about  in  connection  with  the  games  in 
the  arena,  and  is  to  be  expected.  What  Martial  remains  silent  about  and 
what  has  indeed  been,  I  think,  almost  altogether  overlooked,  is  the 
extensive  use  he  makes  of  this  method  in  the  bulk  of  his  work. 
To  enter  into  the  precise  details  would  require  another  study,  but 
there  is  scarcely  a  theme  to  which  he  does  not  return  at  least 
three  or  four  times.  In  Books  I-VHI,  inclusive,  there  are  759 
epigrams  of  which  475  are  devoted  to  about  30  subjects.  Some 
of  these,  together  with  the  number  of  times  they  reappear,  may 
be  mentioned:  habits  and  behavior  of  animals,  19;  peculiarities  of 
personal  appearance,  27 ;  works  of  art,  1 1  ;  the  dandy,  5 ;  Domitian,  25 ; 
the  heavy  drinker,  7 ;  the  dole,  5 ;  devotion  of  friends,  1 1  ;  the  fortune 
hunter,  8;  praise  of  friends,  24;  filial  and  conjugal  dev^otion,  15 ;  festivals, 


«^X  78,  14.  "11   86,  4. 

"I  7,  3;  109,  I ;  IV  14,  14;  VI  34,  8;  VII  14.  4;  VIII  -jz,  8;  IX  6,  14;  XII  44,  5; 

59,  3 ;  XI V  77. 

''  For  another  view  of  this  relation  cf.  Simcox,  History  of  Latin  Literature,  p. 
116 — "More  commonly  Martial  exhibits  himself  as  the  rival  of  a  poet  with  whom  he 
has  little  in  comomn  but  the  metre."  See  also  Teuflfel-Schwabe,  II  124;  "He 
repeatedly  places  himself  on  a  level  with  Domitius  Marsus  and  Catullus.  That  he 
could  not  attain  anything  higher  he  attributes  with  manifest  self-deception  to  his 
indigent  circumstances."  '^  I    44. 


Martial's  literary  attitude  —  elmoke  69 

8;  gifts,  32;  the  guest,  15;  the  host,  25;  historical  characters,  12;  views 
of  life,  14;  the  lover,  5;  the  lawyer,  8;  marriage,  12;  ostentation,  12; 
places  and  buildings,  20;  the  parvenue,  10 ;  the  pretender,  9 ;  the  physician, 
4;  TraiSiKci,  II  ;  the  reciter,  8;  the  spendthrift,  7;  villas,  6;  wine,  8,  etc. 

This  method  throws  into  relief  the  range  of  Martial's  literary 
interests.  These  are  usually  supposed  to  be  of  the  most  extensive  and 
varied  character.  "His  material,"  remarks  a  recent  historian  of  Roman 
literature,^*  "is  enormous,  representing  the  whole  civilization  and  social 
life  of  his  time."  In  view  of  the  facts,  statements  of  this  character  are 
altogether  misleading.  Martial  was  interested  in  certain  immediate 
phases  of  existence,  but  these  were  far  indeed  from  comprehending  the 
social  life  of  his  time. 

Martial  has  one  reference"-"'  to  the  fact  that  subjects  were  sometimes 
suggested  to  him  by  others.  In  this  case  the  result  had  evidently  not 
been  satisfactory.  "You  ask  me,"  he  says,  "for  lively  epigrams,  and  the 
subjects  you  prepare  are  themselves  lifeless."  There  is  nothing  to  indicate 
the  character  of  the  suggested  themes  or  the  extent  of  the  practice.  Nor 
would  it  seem  to  be  safe  to  infer  that  the  epigrams  were  composed  for 
others  to  be  used  by  them  as  their  own. 

In  the  treatment  of  his  subject  matter,  whatever  it  may  be,  Martial 
puts  down  as  one  of  his  principles  that  of  directness  and  simplicity.  He 
sets  out  intending  to  call  a  spade  a  spade^'^  and  later^^  we  find  him  also 
boasting  that  his  work  is  altogether  free  from  swelling  bombast.  Another 
achievement  is  the  clearness  of  his  style.  A  rival  poet  who  had  made  the 
learned  but  obscure  Cinna  his  model  needs  not  a  reader  but  an  Apollo 
to  understand  him.  As  for  himself  he  wishes  to  satisfy  the  taste  of 
scholars,  but  not  to  require  their  interpretation.^*  He  feels  also  the  need 
of  variety.  It  is  good,  for  example,  to  be  brief,  but  brevity  itself  ceases  to 
be  a  virtue  if  it  be  unrelieved.  A  book  containing  nothing  but  distichs 
could  not  be  saved  from  monotony.'" 

One  of  the  most  important  of  Martial's  literary  principles  is  the 
sincerity  which  consists  in  coming  directly  in  contact  with  his  subject 
matter.  Thus  on  his  return  to  Spain,  cut  off  as  he  was  from  the  life  he 
had  known  and  described,  his  inspiration  lagged.  He  could  not  from  a 
distance,  in  imagination,  recreate  the  theaters,  the  baths,  the  libraries, 
the  social  gatherings.  To  write  of  them  he  must  share  in  them  at  first 
hand,*°  and  every  book  destined  to  live  must  reflect  a  spirit  that  finds 
enjoyment  in  life.*^ 


'  Aly,  Geschichte  der  Rumischen  Literatur,  p.  287.  "  XI    42. 

'Praef.  I    14.  "IV    49,   7-  "X    21. 

VIII    29,  2.  '"Praef.  XII    1-15.  "VI   60,    10. 


70  MATZKE    MEMORIAL  VOLUME 

In  achieving  a  final  literary  form  for  his  work  Martial  was  conscious 
of  the  requirements  of  artistic  unity  and  proportion.  To  a  certain 
Cosconius,^-  also  a  writer  of  epigrams,  who  complained  that  some  of  his 
pieces  were  too  long,  he  replied  that  a  composition  is  not  too  long  from 
which  nothing  could  be  taken  away.  The  treatment  of  a  theme  should  be 
an  artistic  whole  with  a  balance  of  parts  like  that  in  a  fine  statue.  Whether 
it  be  long  or  short  will  depend  largely  on  the  nature  of  the  subject  to 
be  treated. 

Martial  was  apparently  much  interested  in  the  reception  of  his  work 
by  the  public.  In  the  first  place  he  shows  a  personal  affection  for  his 
books,  an  author's  solicitude  and  tenderness  for  the  creation  of  his  fancy 
as  if  it  were  a  favorite  slave  or  even  his  own  child.^'  When  it  must 
leave  the  security  of  the  home  for  the  shops  of  the  Argiletum,  he  warns 
it  of  a  possible  hostile  reception  at  the  hands  of  the  too  critical 
Romans,^*  and  yet  he  seeks  to  smooth  the  way  by  the  assurance  of  the 
support  of  some  influential  friend.  One  of  these  is  his  old  and  dear  friend 
Julius  Martialis  to  whose  house  his  book,  however  begrimed  with  dust, 
may  always  go  with  the  certainty  of  heartfelt  embraces.^^  Another  is 
Caesius  Sabinus,  "the  glory  of  mountainous  Umbria,"  who,  though 
oppressed  with  manifold  cares,  has  leisure  for  his  friend's  book,  and 
through  whose  favor  it  will  be  celebrated  in  temples,  colonnades,  shops, 
and  streets.^®  Still  another  is  L.  Arruntius  Stella."  There  are  also 
those  to  whose  good  offices  he  appeals  when  he  desires  his  book  to  make 
headway  in  particular  quarters.  Such  are  Rufus  (perhaps  the  Canius 
Rufus  of  I  6i,  9),  Rufus  Instantius,^^  Faustinus,^^  and  especially 
Euphemus,®°  Sextus,"^  Parthenius,''-  and  Crispinus,^^  the  four  last  men- 
tioned being  connected  with  the  household  of  Domitian.  To  the  Emperor 
himself  in  two  instances  he  made  direct  appeal,  asking  in  the  one  case"* 
merely  for  the  acceptance  of  his  verses,  and  in  the  other'*^  favor  and 
support  for  the  author.  To  the  emperor  Nerva  he  also  presents  a  selection 
from  books  X  and  XI.^''  Through  the  mere  presentation  of  his  work  to 
persons  of  influence  Martial  also  seeks  to  gain  something  in  personal 
favor  and  public  estimation.  There  are  several  epigrams  of  this  kind,**^ 
the  most  elaborate  (which  also  brought  the  author  a  substantial  gift  of 
money®^)  being  a  presentation  to  Pliny  the  younger.®* 


"II    -JT.     Cf.  Ill    69,  7-  ''Cf.  I    52,  4;  X    104,  IS.  "I    3,  3. 

"Ill    5,  8.  ""VII    97-  *'XII   3.    II- 

"IV  82;   VII    68.  "VII    80,  3-  *°IV    8,  7- 

"V   5.  '=VIII    82,  5.  '-'VII   99- 

"  V   I,  9.  "  V   6,  XII    IT.  "  XII    5. 

"Cf.  IV    10,  VII    17,  VIII    72,  X  93;  104-         ''Plin.  Ep.  3,  21.      ™X    19. 


Martial's  literary  attitude  —  elmore  71 

Martial  (like  Cicero^"")  seems  to  have  understood  the  psychological 
value  of  numbers ;  at  all  events  he  is  at  great  pains  to  spread  the  impres- 
sion that  his  readers  are  exceedingly  numerous.  One  of  his  greatest 
admirers  was  Urbicus/"^  the  lawyer,  who  could  repeat  the  poems  from 
memory  without  losing  a  single  word.  If  you  dropped  in  at  his  chambers 
after  the  day's  work  was  done,  he  would  invite  you  to  a  cozy  little  dinner 
for  two,  and  while  you  sipped  the  wine,  would  read  his  beloved  Martial 
aloud;  and  even  when  you  grew  tired  and  said,  "Isn't  that  enough  for 
now,"  his  voice  would  still  roll  on  and  on.  Even  the  earliest  editions  of 
the  poet's  work,  trifles  which  he  had  himself  forgotten,  were  collected  and 
preserved  by  the  bookseller  Pollius  Valerianus.^"-  Coming  to  more 
distinguished  persons,  Macer  is  so  fond  of  Martial  that  he  neglects  the 
care  of  the  Appian  Way.^"=^  The  leading  men  of  the  city,^°*  like  Silius 
and  Regulus  and  Sura,  also  lend  attentive  ears.  Even  Caesar  himself, 
with  the  weight  of  empire  resting  upon  him,  finds  time  to  read  these 
sportive  verses  twice  and  thrice  over"^  and  to  praise  and  reward  their 
author.  In  fact,  they  are  known  to  everyone  who  has  not  the  ear  of  a 
downright  Batavian.^"*'  To  this  popular  favor  as  distinguished  from  that 
of  more  cultivated  circles  Martial  refers  with  obvious  pride.  "You 
read  and  repeat  my  verses,"  he  says  to  the  reader,  "all  over  Rome,"^"^  and 
again,  "In  Rome  I  am  in  every  hand,  in  every  pocket.  I  am  praised, 
loved,  and  recited. "^°^  He  is  read  in  Vienna  by  young  and  old,^"^  in 
Getic  forests  and  in  Britain. ^^°  Not  only  so  but  at  the  very  beginning  of 
his  first  book  Martial  announces  that  he  is  known  all  over  the  world,  on 
account  of  his  witty  epigrams. ^^^  This  statement  is  reiterated;  he  has  a 
name  throughout  the  cities  of  the  world  ;^^^  he  is  read  everywhere  in  the 
world,  and  when  he  passes  on  the  street  people  say,  "It  is  he";^^^  his 
books  circulate  among  all  the  nations  subject  to  Rome's  dominion  ;^^*  he 
is  the  famous  Martial  known  by  his  verses  of  eleven  syllables  and  by 
his  abundant  but  not  savage  wit  to  all  the  peoples  and  the  nations  ;^^^' 
and  finally  fame  can  give  him  nothing  more,  his  book  is  in  every  hand.^^^ 
This  fame  by  some  good  fortune  and  contrary  to  the  usual  practice  he  has 
achieved  before  his  death,^^^  but  it  is  not  a  temporary  thing;  the  future 
is  also  secure.  He  shall  be  known  among  the  Scythians^^*  and  the  Celts 
and  the  Iberians,^"  and  when  the  stones  of  Messala's  tomb  lie  broken  and 

"*  Ep.  ad.  Att.  I  I,  3.  ^"VII    51-  "'I    113- 

"'X    17,  5.  '"^VI    64,  10-15.  '"'HI  95,5- 

'°*VI   82,  5.  '"V  16    3.  "'VI  61.     Cf.  IX  97,  2. 

•"•VII    88,    1-4.  ""XI   3,3-5.  '"11    1-3- 

•"III   95,  7.  "'V    13,  3.  "*VIII    61,  3. 

"'X   9.  ""VIII    3,   3.  "'I  1, 5.    Cf.  V 10,  12 ;  VIII 69. 

""  VII   84,  3.  "°  X    78,  9. 


72  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

the  lofty  marble  of  Licinus  is  dust  his  words  shall  still  be  on  men's  lips, 
and  his  verse  shall  be  carried  by  many  a  stranger  to  his  fatherland. ^^° 

In  spite  of  his  great  popularity  Martial's  books  were  not  always 
received  in  the  way  he  desired.  He  was  troubled  with  people  who 
wanted  to  borrow  them/-^  or  receive  them  as  a  gift,^-^  but  did  not  think 
enough  of  them  to  obtain  them  from  the  bookseller  in  a  more  satisfactory 
fashion.  There  was  also  the  discouraging  person  who,  after  admiring 
the  separate  pieces  and  being  eager  for  their  publication,  yawned  over 
the  thin  volume  for  three  whole  days.^^*  But  all  this  was  not  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  actual  attacks  of  outspoken  critics. 

We  learn  from  Martial  himself  what  it  was  the  critics  found  fault 
with.  One  thing  he  had  especially  to  apologize  for  was  the  coarseness 
of  a  considerable  part  of  his  work.  In  mitigation  he  appeals,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  to  the  practice  of  his  predecessors.^-^  Akin  to  this  is  the 
plea^-**  that  his  verses  are  not  so  bad  as  those  heard  on  the  stage.  If  the 
chaste  matron  can  listen  to  the  worse  naughtiness  of  the  actors,  his  own 
lines  need  not  give  her  pause.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they  do  not  except  in 
the  presence  of  her  staid  husband ;  otherwise  she  reads  them  with 
delight.^-'  The  throwing  off  of  conventional  restraint  becomes  virtually 
universal  at  the  Saturnalia  and  the  festival  of  Flora,  and  Martial  makes 
the  excuse  that  some  of  the  objectionable  verses  are  written  for  these 
occasions  or  in  the  spirit  of  those  who  attend  them.^^*  On  these  occasions 
not  even  an  austere  Cato  could  expect  the  poet  of  light  verse  not  to  fall  in 
with  the  general  spirit.  Moreover,  the  populace  of  the  city  for  whom  he 
writes^-®  is  always  loose  and  frivolous,  and  he  frankly  panders  to  their 
taste,  shaking  the  castanet  like  a  girl  from  Cadiz. ^^°  This  after  all  is  the 
only  road  to  success,  for  the  only  kind  of  jesting  verse  that  finds  favor 
is  that  dealing  with  lascivious  themes."^  In  spite  of  this  yielding  to  the 
demands  of  the  popular  taste,  Martial  assures  us  in  two  famous 
passages^^^  that  his  own  life  is  upright. ^^" 

The  other  criticisms  which  Martial  feels  called  on  to  notice  are  not 


•^VIII   3,  5-8,  X  2,9-12.       '"I,  117.  "-"MV    72;  V    -72. 

"'II  6.     Cf.  XI  106;  107.         "'For  a  similar  justification  Cf.  Ter.  And.  Prol.   18. 
'==*III    86.  ""XI    16,  9.  ""Praef.  I  15;  I  35,  8;  XI  15,   11. 

'^  XI    16,    2.     Urbanae    scripsimus  ista  togae.       "°  XI    16,  4.  "*  I    35,   10. 

"^  I,  4,  8 — Lasciva  est  nobis  pagina,  vita  proba ;  XI    15,  13 — Mores  non  habet  hie 

meos  libellus. 

*"  Boissier  thinks  this  is  a  very  poor  defence.  Perhaps  Martial  means  by  his 
probitas  nothing  more  than  freedom  from  certain  perversions  which  he  mentions  to 
satirize.  The  ordinary  violations  of  chastity  virould  not  in  his  eyes  constitute  a 
defect  of  character.  He  may,  however,  be  merely  echoing  Ovid,  Trist.  II  354  and 
Catull.  16,  5. 


Martial's  literary  attitude  —  elmore  73 

of  great  importance.  In  the  eyes  of  one  his  work  (strange  to  say)  lacks 
pungency,  to  whom  the  author  repHes  that  for  the  kind  of  pungency 
he  desires"*  he  should  seek  elsewhere.  Nor  for  the  sake  of  vigor  will 
he  resort  to  an  archaic  harshness  of  measure ;  his  verses  shall  run  with 
smooth  cadence,  and  those  who  find  them  weak  do  not  know  what  real 
strength  is.^^^  It  is  true,  his  work  is  uneven"" — some  good  and  some  bad 
— but  evenness  is  only  another  name  for  mediocrity."^  Some  of  the 
epigrams,  it  was  also  said  with  considerable  frequency,  were  too  long, 
in  which  case  the  critic  is  invited  to  read  only  the  short  ones,^^^  or 
adjured  not  to  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  pick  only  the  dainties,"^  or  is 
taunted  with  being  no  judge,  having  himself  written  nothing. "°  The 
serious  justification  of  this  mechanical  objection  is  of  course  an  appeal  to 
precedent,  and  to  the  principle  of  artistic  unity.  When  the  sense  is  not 
clear  or  the  construction  unidiomatic.  the  fault  lies  with  the  copyist — 
blunders  which  the  author  acknowledges  and  which  the  critic  might  be 
expected  to  correct  for  himself  in  silence. ^*^ 

Martial  also  sufifered  from  having  his  work  stolen.  The  plagiarists 
had  various  devices.  One  was  so  shameless  that  he  did  not  even  buy  the 
book  which  he  recited  as  his  own  ;^*^  another  made  the  purchase  of  the 
volume  the  basis  of  his  literary  ownership  •,^*^  and  still  another  inserted 
a  single  page  of  his  own,  seeking  thus  the  impression  that  he  was  the 
author  of  the  whole  book.^**  But  such  crude  methods  were  sure  of 
detection.  It  was  not  possible  to  appropriate  the  work  of  a  well-known 
author  without  discovery.  "What  you  really  need,"  says  Martial  to  the 
plagiarists  with  fine  sarcasm,  "if  you  are  to  acquire  fame  from  another's 
compositions,  is  to  buy  not  only  his  work,  but  also  his  silence.  Remember 
however,  that  this  will  not  make  you  a  poet ;  the  applause  of  the  world  is 
not  to  be  gained  so  cheaply. "^*^  In  protecting  himself  against  literary 
thieves  in  general  Martial  calls  on  his  friend  Quinctianus  for  assistance. 
When  the  latter  sees  one  of  the  poet's  books  in  slavery,  as  it  were,  he 
should  become  its  champion  and  if  possible  put  some  shame  into  the 
heart  of  him  who  had  stolen  it.^**^ 

The  epigrams  on  plagiarists  in  books  I  and  II  raise  the  question  as 
to  what  previous  work  of  Martial  had  suffered  from  their  ravages.  It 
seems  hardly  probable  that  the  plagiarist  would  busy  himself  with 
the  Liber  Spectaculorum,  the  Xenia,  the  Apophoreta,  or  the  effusions 
of  Martial's  youth  which  he  had  himself  forgotten.     It  is  more  likely 


'"X    45,  5.  "'XI   90,  8.  "'I  16,  I. 

•"VII   90,  4-  "'VI   6s,  4-  "'X   59,  4- 

"°I  91,  2;  no,  2.  '"II  8.  '"I  29;  62;  XII  72,  7. 

•"II  20.    Cf.  XII  46.  *"I   53-  '"I  66;  72.                      "'I    52. 


74  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

that  the  reference  is  to  an  earHer  edition  of  books  I  and  II,  which,  as 
Stobbe  has  made  probable,^*^  appeared  in  a  single  book.  In  fact  these 
references  to  plagiarists  are  an  evidence  of  this  earlier  publication. 

With  the  exception  of  XII  72,  Martial  makes  no  references  to 
plagiarism  in  his  later  work;  he  does,  however,  record  two  protests 
against  the  opposite  practice  of  attributing  to  him  work  of  which  he  was 
not  the  author.  In  one  case  the  verses  were  of  an  extremely  personal 
and  vindictive  character  such  as  Archilochus  might  have  written  for  the 
destruction  of  Lycambes,  but  which  Martial  repudiates  in  no  uncertain 
tone.  "My  jesting,"  he  says,  "as  you  well  know,  is  harmless."  He  also 
disowns  the  verses  written  in  a  low  and  filthy  jargon  which  a  certain 
nameless  poet  was  attempting  to  pass  off  as  his.  "Far  from  my  books," 
he  writes,  "be  such  foul  fame.""^ 

With  this  keen  sense  of  ownership  in  his  work,  he  was  also  anxious 
to  profit  by  it  in  a  material  way.  He  takes  pains  accordingly  to  point  out 
where  his  book  could  be  bought.  It  was  for  sale  in  a  small  parchment 
edition  by  Secundus,  whose  shop  was  behind  the  temple  of  Peace,^*^  by 
Atrectus  in  the  Argiletum,  at  five  denarii  a  copy,^^"  to  whom  he 
recommends  a  would-be-borrower,  by  Q.  Pollius  Valerianus,  who  makes 
a  specialty  of  the  earlier  compositions,^^^  and  by  the  bookseller  Trypho, 
from  whom  the  Xenia  could  be  obtained  for  four  or  even  two  sesterces. ^^'- 
Through  these  shops  and  doubtless  through  many  others  Martial's  books 
were  sold  widely,  but  whatever  the  conditions  of  the  book-trade  may  have 
been,  the  author  in  this  case  seems  to  have  received  little  or  no  benefit 
from  the  extensive  circulation  of  his  works.  "My  verse,"  he  says  in  one 
of  the  latest  books,^^^  "is  thumbed  by  the  stern  centurion  amid  Getic  frosts 
and  is  said  to  be  read  even  in  distant  Britain.  And  yet  what  profit  is 
there  for  me?  My  purse  knows  naught  of  all  this  fame."  This  direct 
statement,  which  he  makes  also  with  respect  to  his  earlier  work,^^* 
chimes  in  well  with  what  we  know  otherwise  of  Martial's  straightened 
circumstances.  As  compensations,  however,  he  had  the  notice  of 
Domitian,  from  whom  he  received  the  ius  natorum  trium}^^  and  the 
country  place  at  Momentum,  the  acquaintance  (and  doubtless  often  more 
tangible  recognition)  of  the  leading  men  of  the  state,^^^  and  a  fame  which 
came  while  he  was  still  living  to  enjoy  it. 

This  want  of  money  was  in  part  responsible  for  the  want  of  leisure 
which  Martial  deplores  as  one  of  the  unfavorable  conditions  of  his 
literary  activity.    The  fact  that  he  writes  only  one  book  a  year  is  not  due 


'  Philologus,  XXVI    62,  ff.  '^  X    3,  9-  "°  I   2,  8. 

'I   117,  10.  '^*I    113.  "'IV  72,  4;  XIII  3,  1-4. 

XI  3,  1-6.  '"  XIII  I,  8.  "» II  92.  '"*  X    70,  9- 


Martial's  literary  attitude  —  elmore  75 

to  lack  of  diligence,  he  affirms,  but  to  his  preoccupation  with  other  affairs 
that  fritter  away  the  day.^"  This  want  of  leisure  affects  the  quality 
as  well  as  the  quantity  of  his  work.  When  one  of  his  friends  reproaches 
him  with  writing  nothing-  really  great  he  replies :  "Give  me  leisure 
such  as  that  which  Maecenas  gave  to  Horace  and  Vergil,  and  I  will 
essay  something  which  shall  live  through  the  ages  and  snatch  my  name 
from  the  flames  of  oblivion. ""''^  To  his  need  of  a  Maecenas,  Martial 
returns  in  an  epigram  addressed  to  his  friend  Flaccus.  "Give  me,"  he 
says,  "such  gifts  as  he  gave  to  Vergil,  and  I  shall  not  be  a  Vergil  but  a 
Marsus."^'^"  Martial  also  found  that  his  best  work  required  not  only 
leisure  but  the  familiar  conditions  of  the  city.  He  makes  this  clear  in 
the  prose  preface  to  book  XH,  written  in  Spain.  He  misses  the  libraries, 
theatres,  and  clubs,  where  one  studied  human  nature  at  first  hand  but 
where  the  labor  of  observation  was  lost  in  the  pleasure.  In  the  freedom  of 
the  Saturnalia  he  found  himself  especially  productive.  "I  can  do  nothing," 
he  says,  "without  wine,  but  when  I  am  drinking,  I  have  the  power  of  a 
dozen  poets,  and  if  to  the  wine  there  be  added  kisses  such  as  Catullus 
loved,  I  will  write  something  that  shall  rank  with  the  latter's  Sparrow."^®" 
Apart  from  the  Saturnalia  with  its  wine  and  women.  Martial  looks  on 
love  as  the  greatest  inspiration.  "If  it  is  your  wish,"  he  says  to 
one  of  his  friends,^**-  "to  give  strength  and  spirit  to  my  muse,  and  if 
you  desire  of  me  verses  which  shall  live,  give  me  some  one  to  love. 
It  was  Cynthia  that  made  the  naughty  Propertius  a  poet ;  the  fair  Lycoris 
was  the  soul  of  Gallus.  The  beautiful  Nemesis  gave  fame  to  the  wit  of 
Tibullus;  while  Lesbia  inspired  the  accomplished  Catullus.  As  for  me 
neither  the  Pelignians  nor  the  Mantuans  will  refuse  me  the  name  of  bard, 
if  only  I  have  some  Corinna  or  some  Alexis." 

Aside  from  what  relates  to  his  own  work  Martial  has  a  few 
observations  on  the  poet's  calling  in  general.  It  is  difficult  to  achieve 
success,^®^  and  when  it  comes,  it  brings  virtually  no  return  except  empty 
applause  ;^^*  indeed  poets  worthy  (in  their  own  estimation  at  least)  to  be 
spoken  of  in  the  same  breath  with  Ovid  and  Vergil,  shiver  in  threadbare 
garments. ^•'^  Even  fame  in  the  real  sense,  owing  to  the  prevalent 
distrust  of  contemporary  authors,  is  reserved  for  the  ancients.  Thus 
Homer  was  derided  by  his  own  age  and  rarely  was  Menander  applauded 
and  crowned  in  the  theater ;  Ennius  was  read  in  the  life-time  of  Vergil, 
and  Ovid  was  known  only  to  his  own  Corinna. ^"^  Fame  thus  usually 
comes  only  with  death,  a  price  which  no  one  can  afford  to  pay.^"^ 

"'X  70;  XI  24.  '^'I   107.  "'VIII    s6,  23. 

*"  XI  6,  12-6.  "=  VIII    n-  '"  I   66,  4- 

"-I    76,   10.  "'11138,9.  '°'V    10.  **''«VA   fio.   i. 


OLD   FRENCH  XE—SE—NON  IN   OTHER  ROMANCE 
LANGUAGES 

AuRELio  Macedonio  Espinosa 

LATIN  nisi  (=  only,  except,  but)  was  expressed  by  a  great  variety 
of  forms  and  constructions  in  the  early  Romance  languages. 
Among  these,  the  most  interesting  and  perhaps  the  most  important 
one  was  (non)-si  non,  a  construction  which  seems  to  have  survived  in  all 
the  Romance  languages  with  the  exception  of  Roumanian. 

A  general  but  very  incomplete  treatment  of  all  these  forms  and 
constructions  in  the  Romance  languages  is  found  in  Meyer-Liibke,  Gram. 
HI,  §§  700-703.  The  French  forms  have  been  carefully  studied  by  Tobler, 
Verm.  Beitrage  HI,  13,  and  Ebeling  Krit.  Jahresb.  V,  212-214,  gives 
additional,  interesting  and  important  information  on  the  question  of  the 
separation  of  si  —  non. 

The  present  study  is  intended  to  be  a  contribution  to  the  history 
of  the  'Trennung,'  and  no  attempt  has  been  made  to  study  the  semasiology 
of  the  problem. 

Diez  (HI,^  1065)  had  already  called  attention  to  the  separation 
of  se  —  non  in  old  French  and  Provenqal,  but  did  not  know  of  the  exist- 
ence of  the  same  phenomenon  in  any  other  Romance  language.  Tobler 
has  limited  himself  to  the  study  of  the  old  French  forms,  and  in  his 
treatment  of  se  -  non  he  has  shown  that  the  'Trennung'  or  separation 
of  se  and  non  with  the  object  or  object  phrase  between  them,  is  the  rule. 
Meyer-Liibke  {op.  cit.)  also  calls  attention  to  the  existence  of  this 
phenomenon  in  Provengal,  but  gives  only  one  example.  I  shall  soon 
show  that  the  'Trennung'  as  found  in  old  French  is  also  the  regular 
construction  in  old  Provengal  and  in  old  Portuguese. 

II 

To  the  numerous  instances  of  the  'Trennung'  which  is  the  rule  in 
old  French,  given  by  Tobler,  I  beg  to  add  the  following:  Roland  (Stengel) 
221,  1522,  3681;  R.  de  la  Rose  (Servois)  539,  1616,  2712,  2866,  3135; 
Les  Narbonnais  (Suchier)  937,  966,  2858,  3071 ;  Yvain  (Foerster)  5379. 
5823;  Loois  (Langlois)  984;  R.  de  Troie  (Constans)  128,  754,  1251, 
1596,  3072,  3692,  3764,  6254,  8739,  11978,  30242;  Raoul  de  C.  (Meyer- 
Longlon  1882)  7335,  8253;  Saxenlied  (Menzel-Stengel)  59,  1856,  2374; 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  77 

R.  de  Thebes  (Constans)  576,  6654;  Aliscans  (Hartnacke-Rasch)  352, 
7044;  Florence  de  Rome  (Wallenskold)  1272,  3538;  Eneas  (J.  S.  de 
Grave)  4217,  7140,  8096;  Folque  de  Candie  (Schultz-Gorra)  3040, 
7995;  R.  d'Escanor  (Michelant)  1603,  11771  ;  Ille  et  Gal.  (Foerster)  54. 
4158;  L'Escoufle  (Michelant-Meyer)  2527,  8455;  Marie  de  France 
Fabeln  (Warnke  1898)  7:  36,  19:  26,  29:  15,  46:  73;  Cambrai,  Balaham 
und  Josaphas  (Appel  1907)  924,  1670,  2058,  6974,  7954,  12276. 

The  undivided  se  non,  tho  rare,  also  exists  in  Old  French  (see 
EbeHng,  op.  cit.,  p.  212).  Among  the  curious  contaminations  of  ne — se — 
non  with  other  constructions  I  have  found  the  following: 

(i)  ne — se — non  -f-  ne — fors  que: 

*Ha!  dame,  tant  belle  vous  voy 
Et  tant  sent  vostre  oignement  bon 
Que  je  n'ay  fors  que  se  bien  non,' 

[Miracles  (Paris-Robert)  II,  46] 

(2)  ne — se — non  -\-  ne  mais  (que)  : 

'Dieus,'  dist  li  quens,  'or  n'ai  mais  se  bien  non !' 

[Le  Mon.  Guillaume  (Cloetta)  2681] 

(3)  ne — se — non  -j-  ne  que: 

'Mes  ij.  freres  laissai,  par  devant  Tabarie, 
II  ne  font  que  bien  non.' — 

[Bauduin  de  Sebonrc  VII,  142-143] 

For  ne — fors — non,  see  Tobler  (op.  cit.)  89. 

The  'Trennung'  is  found  in  French  as  late  as  the  XV  century : 

'Car  je  n'y  pense  se  bien  non' 

[Clir.  de  Pisan  (Roy)  I,  100] 

'Sont  maintes  fois  les  dames  deceiies. 

Car  simples  sont,  n'y  pensent  se  bien  non.' 

[Ibid.  II,  4] 

By  the  XVI  century  the  'Trennung'  no  longer  existed : 

'Mais  ton  ame,  n'est  pas  ravie, 
Sinon  de  justice  et  bonte.' 

[Poet,  du  XVI^  sicclc  (Lemercier)  Ronsard  118] 

*Aux  anciens  la  Muse  a  permis  de  tout  dire, 
Tellement  qu'il  ne  reste  a  nous  autres  derniers, 
Sinon   le   desespoir   d'ensuivre   les  premiers,' — 

[Ibid.  185] 


78  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

The  last  construction  still  exists  in  modern  French  poetry  and 
sometimes  in  prose. ^  - 

III. 

In  old  Provenqal  the  'Trennung'  is  also  the  rule.  Diez  (op.  cit.)  knew 
of  the  existence  of  this  phenomenon  in  Provenqal  and  Meyer-Liibke 
(op.  cit.)  cites  one  instance.  EbeHng  (op.  cit.)  has  found  a  few 
more  instances  and  also  gives  examples  of  the  undivided  se  non  both  for 
old  French  and  Provengal.  To  the  few  cases  of  the  'Trennung'  given  by 
Ebeling  I  desire  to  add  the  following,  to  show  that  in  old  Provenqal  it 
was  the  rule,  just  as  in  old  French.  The  Provencal  forms  are  si — no, 
se — no,  si — non,  se — non : 

'e  malvaitz  horn  dinz  sa  maiso 
que  no  fa  ditz  si  mal  no.' 

[Appel  Chr.^  43,  80-81] 


'Marcabrun  go  no  m'es  pas  bon 
que  d'amor  digaz  si  ben  non ;' 


[Ibid.  85,  lo-ii] 


'e   no   uoillatz   autr'om   li   do 
Nuill  jorn  a  maniar  si  uos  no.' 

[Monaci  Ausels  (S  F  R  III)  1344-1345] 

'Al  segle  ne  ere  quel  plaga 
Que  diga  re  se  so'l  mal  non.' 

[Cans.  Prov.  Riccardiana  (Bertoni  G  R  L  8)  41,  12-13] 

'Don  crei  morir  si  no  len  pren  merces, 
Que  mon  cor  es  mirails  de  so  faigo. 
Per  qel  fugir  no  mes  ren  se  mal  no.' 

[Cans.  Prov.  C.  (S  F  R  VII)  80,  14-16] 

'Qades  poing  en  son  pro. 
E  non  fai  se  mal  no.'     [Ibid.  83,  14-15] 

'qem  pren  qan  fuich  em  met  ental  preiso. 
quissir  non  puos  si  mortz  o  amatz  no.'^ 

[Cans.  Prov.  A  (S  F  R  III)  341,  22-23] 

non  agui  entensio 


cab  antra  si  ab  vos  no.'     [Ibid.  452,  55-56] 

1  See  Matzner,  Franz.  Gram.^  (Berlin  1885),  §  165. 

2  In  old  French  only  one  of  two  or  more  objects  intervened  as  a  rule: 

'Onques  n'i  pot  antrer  vilains 
se  dames  non  et  chevalier'     [Erec.  6913-14] 

'Onkes  n'oi  d'els  se  mal  non 

et  felonie  et  traison.'     {Eneas  6221-22] 


I 


OLD   FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  79 

'Pieca  quil  nen  ot  guerre  sa  paians  non 
Tuit  sunt  conquis  par  force  aquil  felon.' 

[Oxford  Rossillon  (Boehmer  Stud.  V)   1542- 1543], 

'Ains  seriez  a  rome  dins  prat  neiron 
Que  luns  ne  requert  lautre  se  p  mort  non.' 

[Ibid.  2851-2852] 

— 'E  apreu  de  ma  mort  mon  fil  folcon 
Qui  ne  dera  consel  ia  se  bon  non.' 

[Ibid.  3008-3009] 

'Moinges  saz  utres  noues  del  rei  carlon 
Eu  non  co  dist  li  moinges  se  males  non.' 

[Ibid.  6774-677 s] 

'E  coilli  les  Girarz  en  sa  maison 
Ainc  rendre  ne  les  voult  se  issi  non 

[London  Rossillon   (Boehmer  Stud.  V)   2039-2040]. 

'Qui  domna  garda  tan  s'i  pert 
Si  non  la  met  en  tal  preiso, 
Que  non  la  veja  s'aquel  no 
Que  la  deu  gardar  et  aver ;' 

[Flamenca  (P.  Meyer)    1152-1155] 

'Non  s'i  bainet  si  rix  horn  no.'     [Ibid.  1493] 

'Car  non  sai  coraus  n'i  veirai 

se  de  cor  no; — '  [Ibid.  2831-2832] 

'Amiga,  nom  fai  si  mal  no,'     [Ibid.  4192] 

*Homz  no  pot  re  vezer 
Ad  huelz,  si  color  no 
Sobre  caique  faisso 
Moven  o  no  moven.' 
[N'at  de  Mons  (W.  Bernhardt.  Altfr.  Bib.  lO,  I,  195-198] 

'Car  plazer  non  a  res, 
Si  de  son  semblan  no.'     [Ibid.  1040-1041] 

'Car  sabers  ses  sen  bo 
No  fa  leu  si  mal  no.'     [Ibid.  II,  529-530] 

'Que  pos  elh  non  an  fait  envas  nos  traicio 
No  los  degratz  destruire  si  per  jutjamen  no.' 

[Croisade  contres  les  Albig.  (Meyer)  5065-5066] 

'E  pauso  lor  amor  e  las  manentias  d'aquest  segle,  et  el  deleit  de  la  charn 
don  ia  nol  venra  nula  re  se  mala  no.' 

[Bartsch  Chr.*  28,  2-4] 


80  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

Just  as  in  old  French  there  is  found  also  in  old  Provengal  the  less 
frequent  undivided  form : 

'aisso  tenc  eu  per  gran  error, 
e  per  mon  grat  no  seria, 
que  ges  no  mou  si  non  de  cor  caitiu,' 

[Appel  Chr.^  32,  37-39] 

'que  degun  non  podia  annar  per  la  ciutat,  si  non  per  la  gent  morta 
ayci  que  era  mot  fera  causa  de  vezer  ho.'  [B.  Lesehuch  177,  4-6]' 

By  the  XV  century,  however,  the  'Trennung'  no  longer  exists  in 
Provenqal : 

'Helas  !  helas  !  la  ciutat  de  Tholosa 
\^oldria  veser !  Mas  guardar  no  la  gauza. 
Si  no  qu'  un  pauc' — 

[Gay  Saber  (Gatieu-Arnoult)  Til,  125] 

'D'autre  gazanh  no  vos  qualha, 
Sino  del  celestial.'      \Ihid.  263] 

'Sola,  san  par,  gentil,  flor  agradiva, 
Vostre  nau  pretz  tot  mon  sentimen  priva 
D'autra  servir,  sino  vos,  bel'  e  bona;'      [Ibid.  252] 


IV 

No  one  has  ever  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  'Trennung' 
as  found  in  old  French  and  old  Provencal  is  also  the  rule  in  the  old 
Portuguese."*  This  is  actually  the  case  to  the  end  of  the  XIV  century. 
The  regular  old  Portuguese  form  is  se — non : 

'Ca  non  e  outre  se  en  non, 
que  mi-o  tive  de-la  sazon.' 

[Cane,  da  Ajuda  (Carolina  Michaelis)  I,  11] 

'E  pesa  vus  porque  non  ei 

eu  poder  no  meu  coragon 

d'amar,  mia  senhor,  se  vos  non.'     [Ibid.  28] 

'Mais  pos  i  foren  dormiran, 
ca  non  desejan  al,  nen  an 
outra  coita  se  esta  non.'     [Ibid.  72] 


^  For  more  cases  see  Ebeling    {op.  cit.,  p.  212). 

*  Ebeling,  however,  cites  one  case  {op.  cit.,  p.  214). 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  81 

' por  niun  ben 

desejar  eu  de  nulha  ren 

eno  mundo,  se  de  vos  non.'     [Ibid.  117] 

'Ca  tal  dona !  si  Dens  a  mi  perdon ! 

non  a  no  mundo,  se  mia  senhor  non.'     [Ibid.  109] 

'E  se  m'esto  contra  vos  non  valer, 

non  rte  valra  logu'  i  se  morte  non.'     [Ibid.  178] 

'Non  me  fez  Deus  tal  dona  ben  querer, 

nen  mi-a  mostrou,  se  por  aquesto  non.'     [Ibid.  181] 

'pois  Deus  non  quer  que  aja  se  mal  non.'     [Ibid.  257] 

'Nunca  Ihes  por  en  faqan  se  mal  non.'     [Ibid.  268] 

'E  amigos,  non  me  soub'  en  guardar 

per  outra  ren  se  per  aquesta  non :'     [Ibid.  294] 

'Mia  senhor,  nunca  despois  vi, 

per  boa  fe,  se  mui  gran  pesar  non ;'     [Ibid.  343] 

*Non  jaz  i  al  se  morte  non,'     [Ibid.  571] 

*nen  mi-o  sab'  outren,  se  Deus  non !'     [Ibid.  682] 

'Ca  nunca  de  vos  ei  d'  aver 

i  Mal  pecado  !  se  coita  non.'     [Ibid.  713] 

'Non  tenh'  eu  se  morte  non.'     [Ibid.  713] 

'que  nunca  devedes  fazer 

en  nulha  cousa  se  ben  non!'     [Ibid.  719] 

'non  mi  valrra  se  Deus  non !'     [Ibid.  904] 

Just  as  in  Provengal  there  are  also  found  in  old  Portuguese  rare  examples 
of  the  undivided  se  non : 

'nunca  me  pose  tolher  al 
mal  nen  gran  coita,  se  non  mal.' 

[Cane,  da  Ajuda  I,  216] 

By  the  XV  century  the  regular  undivided  form  had  become  the  rule : 

' —  ca  elle  nom  ffezeera  aquelo,  senom  pelo 
toruar  de  se  non  ir  lancar  sobre  elle.' 

[Vasconcellos   Text.  Areh.  65,  23-24] 

' —  que  OS  libros  nunca  forom  feitos  senom 
pera  aquelles  que  non  sabem  e  querem  aprender.' 
[Ibid.  55,  12-13] 


82  MATZKE  me:morial  volume 

From  the  X\'I  century  the  usual  form  has  been  senao  :^ 

'Nao  tens  aqui  senao  apparelhado 
O  hospicio  que  o  cru  Doimedes  dava.' — 
[Camoens  Liisiadas  II,  62] 

'Em  nenhuma  outra  cousa  confiado, 
Senao  no  summo  Deos  que  o  ceo  regia,' 
[Ibid.   Ill,  43] 

'Agora  conheco  com  certeza  que  nao  ha  outro 
Deos  em  toda  terra,  senao  o  Deos  de  Israel.' 
[Roquete  Hist.  Sagr.  II,  45] 

V 

A  regular  use  of  the  'Trennung,'  as  found  in  old  French,  old 
Provencal  and  old  Portuguese,  does  not  seem  to  exist  in  Italian  and 
Spanish.® 

A.     In  Italian  the  usual  forms  are  se  non,  se  no,  sown: 

'La  sete  natural  che  mai  non  sazia 
Se  non  con  I'acqua  onde  la  femminetta 
Samaritana  dimando  la  grazia' 

[Dante,  Purg.  XXI,  1-3] 

Other  cases  are:  Inferno  X,  21,  XVII,  117,  XIX,  114,  XXV,  37; 
Purgatorio  XII,  129,  XIII,  6;  Paradiso  I,  137,  X,  90,  148,  XVII,  41, 
XXII,  54. 

'Omai,  care  compagne,  niuna  cosa  resta  piu  a  fare  al  mio 
reggimento   per   la   presente   giornata   se   non   darvi   reina 
nuova,' 

[Bocc.  Decam.  I,  10] 

' —  m'ha  trovato  in  prigione,  della  quale  mai  se  non  morto 
uscire  non  spero!' 
[Ibid.  II,  6] 

^  In  Camoens,  mas  (cf.  Spanish  mas)  is  usually  equivalent  to  senao,  even  after 
a  negation,  and  by  far  more  frequent.  In  the  Spanish  of  the  XVI-XVII  centuries 
the  line  between  mas,  sino,  pcro,  was  not  clearly  drawn,  and  salvo,  excepto,  mas 
que  added  to  this  confusion.  See  also  Bello-Cuervo,  Gram,'^^  §§  1275-1278.  For  the 
curious  forms  nego,  nega  =  senao  found  in  Gil  Vicente,  see  Cornu  in  Rom.  XI,  89. 
In  Sa  de  Miranda  and  other  Portuguese  poets  sinon  >  son,  and  in  the  Alexandre 
sino  >  sin,  see  Carolina  Michaelis,  ZRPh.  IV,  603. 

"  In  Spanish,  however,  a  few  isolated  and  curious  cases  are  found,  see  C. 
For  Italian,  I  know  only  the  case  cited  by  Rajmouard,  Lc.xique  Roman  IV  (1842) 

325: 

'A  niun  altro  s'lia  da  attril)uire  la  causa  se  alle  donne  no.' 

[Castiglione,   Cor  teg.   lib.    Ill] 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  83 

'Digli :  un  che  non  ti  vide  da  ancor  presso, 
Se  non  come  per  fama  uom  s'innamora ;' 
[Petrarca  Rime  I  Cane  VI] 

'Vera  Donna,  ed  a  cui  di  nulla  cala, 
Se  non  d'onor,  che  sovr'  ogni  altra  mieti ;' 
[Ibid.  Son.  CCXXV] 

'Non  sa  che  far  la  timida  donzella, 
Se  non  tenersi  ferma  in  su  la  sella.' 

[Ariosto  OH.  Fur.  VIII.  25] 

'Questo  cuore  che  amor  mai  non  richiesse 

Se  non  forse  a  le  idee 
E  che  ferito  tra  le  sue  contese 
Ora  morir  si  dee.' 

[Carducci,  Intermezzo  IX,  9]' 

B.   {i)    In  old  Spanish  the  usual  forms  are  si  non,  sy  non,  sinon,  sino, 
si  no : 

'Que  non  yfincas  ninguno,  mugier  nin  varon. 
Si  non  amas  sus  mugieres  dofia  Eluira  e  dofia  Sol :' 
[Cid  2709-2710] 

'non  lo  sabrian  dezir  los  que  leen  sermones, 
sy  non  los  que  suffrieron  tales  tribulaqiones.' 
[St.  Do.  de  Silos,  74  be] 

'Plus  pavoroso  dia  nunqua  amanecio, 
Sinon  el  viernes  sancto  quando  Christo  murio.' 
[San  Milldn  379  cd] 

'Asmo  que  lo  non  podrie  en  otra  guisa  matar 
sy  non  por  aventura  por  aquel  lugar.' 

[Alexandre   (Morel  Fatio)   708  ab] 

'Non  puede  a  nuyll  omne  la  cosa  mas  durar. 
Si  non  quanto  el  fado  le  quiso  otorgar;' 
[Appollonio  341  ab] 

'e  Julio  Cesar  en  estos  V  annos  non  pudo  ganar  sino  fasta 
Lerida.' 

[Pr.  Cronica  Gen.   (Pidal)  9a,  4-5] 

'Non  queria  cassar  con  una  sola  mente, 
Sy  non  con  tres  mugeres,  tal  era  su  talente.' 
[J.  Ruiz  189  be] 

'Ca  non  ha  pobre  honbre 
Sy  non  el  cobdigioso;' 

[Sem.  Tob.  Prov.  214  ab] 

'  For  more  cases  see  Tommaseo-Bellini,  Diziomnio  IV,  795796.     In   Italian 
there  is  also  used  se  non  se  =  se  no  (T-B). 


84  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

'Et  el  dean  le  prometio  et  le  aseguro  que  de  qualqiiier  bien  que  el 
oviese,  que  nunca  faria  sinon  lo  que  el  mandase. 

[Juan  Manuel  Lucanor,  47,  45] 

Other  old  Spanish  instances  of  this  regular  use  of  si  non,  shio,  are 
the  following: 

Pr.  Cronica  Gen.  I4ai9,  2ib2.  4^145,  571)30,  76b3i,  94ai8,  I03b4i, 
iiibio,  119342,  I22bii;  San  Milldn  42d,  2iid,  379d ;  Sacriiigio  9d,  i6c, 
202b;  Milagros  4od,  4id,  761c;  Alixandre  (M.  Fatio)  7d,  I96d,  i6o9d ; 
Ferndn  Gons.  (Marden)  53d,  ii9d,  23od,  348c;  Cavallero  Cifar 
(Michelant  1872)  19:23,  25:6,  51:18,  65:6,  77:6;  Lucanor  6:11,  54:24, 
56:3,  58:17,  64:22,  75:6,  80:3,  92:15,  110:17,  121:12;  Jttan  Ruiz  6o2d, 
703c,  86od,  1423d. 

(2)   Since  the  Classic  period  the  regular  form  is  sino: 

'Mire  vuestra  merced,  respondio  Sancho,  que  aquellos  que 
alii  se  parecen  no  son  gigantes,  sino  molinos  de 
viento, —  {Don  Quixote  VII] 

'Tu  nuestro  principe  eres ; 
Ni  admitimos  ni  queremos 
Sino   al    senor   natural 
y  no  a  principe  extranjero.' 

[Calderon,  La  Vida  es  Sueno  III,  2] 

'Ni  en  su  vida  conocio  otro  mal,  sino  una  especie  de  alferecia  que  le 
amagaba  de  cuando  en  cuando.' 

[Moratin,  El  Si  de  las  ninas  I,  4] 

G.     The  'Trennung'  in  Spanish. 

Hanssen  (Spanische  Gram.  §  66)  says:  'Im  Altspanischen  konnen 
si  und  non  getrennt  werden,'  giving  as  an  example  the  well  known  case 
from  the  Egipciaqua.  Ebeling  (op.  cit.)  has  already  called  attention  to 
the  fact  that  this  may  be  a  French  construction.  It  should  be  added  that 
in  the  Egipciaqua,  sino  is  regularly  used,  and  the  'Trennung'  occurs  only 
in  the  first  case,  evidently  a  French  construction.  To  see  how  closely 
the  Spanish  poem  follows  the  probable  French  original,  it  is  sufficient  to 
compare  the  two  in  the  opening  lines  as  given  by  Mussafia  {Sitzungs- 
berichte  der  Phil.-Hist.  Kl.  der  Kais.  Acad,  dcr  Wissenschaften,  Wien, 
V,  XLIII,  157).  With  the  exception  of  this  very  doubtful  case,  there 
does  not  exist,  to  my  knowledge,  a  single  case  of  the  'Trennung'  for  the 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  85 

old  Spanish  period.     Hanssen's  statement,  therefore,  if  based  only  on 
the  example  given,  is  a  very  bold  one. 

Neither  Hanssen  nor  Ebeling  seem  to  know,  however,  that  a  few 
isolated  cases  of  the  'Trennung'  are  found  in  the  Spanish  of  the  XV  and 
XVI  centuries.    The  total  number  of  cases  known  to  me  is  the  following : 

(a)  The  two  examples  from  the  Arnadis,  given  by  Bello  (Bello- 
Cuervo,  Gram}'^  §  1282  note). 

(b)  The  proverb  used  by  Cervantes,  *en  ayunas  si  de  pecar  no.' 
(Bello-Cuervo,  Ibid.). 

(c)  '^A  quien  contare  mis  quexas  si  a  ti  no?  ' 

(El  Marques  d'Astorga,  Cancionero,  cf.  Raynouard,  op.  cit.) 

(d )  The  cases  found  in  the  verses  (some  Spanish,  some  Portuguese) 
addressed  to  D.  Joao  III  by  Gil  Vicente  (Obras,  Lisboa  1852,  Vol.  Ill)  : 

'^  A  quien  contare  mis  quejas, 
Si  a  vos  no?' 

3-4,  11-12,  27-28 

'Que  no  contare  mis  quejas 
Si  a  vos  no.'    19-20 

'Porque  no  cuento  mis  quejas 
Si  a  vos  no.'     35-36 

The  cases  from  the  Amadis  are  very  interesting  and  curious,  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  the  regular  undivided  sino  is  the  rule  and  it  is  very 
frequent.  Examples :  'porque  el  rey  su  marido  nunca  la  consintio  cubrir 
sus  hermosos  cabellos  sino  de  una  muy  rica  guirlanda,'  la  9;  'Si  me  vos 
prometeis,  dijo  el  Rey,  como  leal  doncella,  de  lo  no  descubrir  sino  alii 
donde  es  razon,  yo  os  lo  dire,'  2b  31,  etc.,  iib36,  i6b54,  22a40,  24h2g, 
26b39,  28b2,  35a7,  37b  13,  42b,  34,  5oa28,  etc.,  etc. 

The  cases  from  Astorga  and  Gil  Vicente  seem  to  be  fixed  formulas 
but  I  have  not  found  any  other  cases.  Gil  Vicente  uses  the  regular 
sino  in  all  other  places,  and  in  his  Portuguese  writings  he  uses  sendo, 
just  as  Camoens,  and  not  the  old  Portuguese  se — non: 

'Eu  nao  quero  de  ti  nada 
Senao  abragar  como  amiga.' 

[Ohras,  op.  cit.  I,  131] 

'Eu  nao  vejo  aqui  maneira, 
Senao  emfim  concrudir.'      [Ibid.  229] 

D.     It  is  probable  that  in  Catalan      (XIII-XIV     centuries)      the 


86  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

'Trennung'  may  occur  as  in  Provengal.     I  have  had  at  my  disposal  only 
X\'  century  texts,  and  there  it  is  not  found,  e.  g. : 

' corrents  atzebres, 


ludries,  vebres, 
hon  bo  ni  bell 
sino  la  pell 
als  no  si  troba:' 

[Jacme  Roig  (Chabas,  1905)   130a  75-76] 


VI 

No  se — non;  no,  sino;  si  non;  se  non,  are  often  strengthened  by  the 
additional  use  of  such  adverbs  as  solemcnt,  solo  or  similar  adjectives 
placed  before  or  after  non,  sino : 


(a)     Old  French: 


'Car  il  ne  mena  home  o  sei, 
Ne  escuier  ne  compagnon, 
Se  solement  son  cheval  non.' 
[Thebes  574-576] 

'Done  amez  vos  je  le  vos  prius, 
Car  doucor  an  nul  mal  ne  truis 
S'  an  amor  non  tan  solemant.' 
[Cliges  31 15-31 17] 

'Ne  nus  ne  puet  aparcevoir 
Qu'il  i  aut  por  nul  acheison, 
Se  por  I'astor  solemant  non.' 
[Ibid.  6324-26]^ 

(b)     Old  Spanish: 

'Todos  yscamos  fuera,  que  nadi  non  raste, 
Si  non  dos  peones  solos  por  la  puerta  guardar.' 
[Cid.  686-687] 

' — porque  la  onra  de  Roma  ficasse  por  todauia  e  la  de  Carthago  fuesse 
destroyda  por  siempre,  que  non  fincasse  si  no  el  nombre  solo ;' 

[Pr.  Cronica  Gen.  51a  34-37] 


*  For  old  Provengal  cases,  see  Ebeling,  op.  cit,  213. 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  87 

' — et  de  guisa  los  sopo  traer  et  reboluer  en  sus  tonieos  que  todos  los 
mato,  sinon  uno  solo  que  finco  y  canssado,  et  a  aquel  non  le  quiso  ya 
matar  Roy  Diaz  mio  Cid." 

[Ibid.  503a  18-22] 

' — pero  al  cabo  non  le  quiso  ninguno  tomar  la  yura,  maguer  que  la  el  rey 
quisiese  dar,  sinon  Roy  Diaz  el  Cid  solo.' 

[Ibid.  519a  6-8] 

' — porque  el  rey  don  Alffonsso  non  dexara  heredero  fijo  nin  fija  sinon  a 
la  reyna  donna  Vrraca  sola.' 

[Ibid.  645b  41-43] 

'esto  non  lo  penssedes  njn  coydedes  njn  creades 
que  sinon  la  muerte  sola  non  parte  las  voluntades.' 

[Juan  Ruiz  860  cd.] 

I  have  found  in  old  Spanish  one  case  of  sinon — solo — solamientre : 

' — ca  de  quantos  alii  son  llegados  non  pudo  ninguno 
ferir  en  somo  del  tablado  sinon  el  solo  tan  solamientre;' 
[Pr.  Cronica  Gen.  432a  1-3] 

(c)     Middle  Spanish: 

' — por  aquella  que  en  su  tiempo  par  de  sabiduria  no  tuvo  en  todas  artes, 
sino  solamente  en  la  del  enganoso  amor  de  aquel  que  mas  que  a  si  mesma 
amaba.'  [Amadis  400  a-14-16] 

'i  Que  mas  mala  ventura  quiere  vuesa  merced,  que  de  once  polios  que 
me  saco  la  gallina,  no  me  han  quedado  sino  solos  cinco?' 

[Lope  de  Rueda  (Acad.)  II,  29] 

' — Yo  no  vivo 

Sino  solo  de  mi  hacienda, 

Ni  paje  en  mi  vida  fui.' 

[Tellez  Don  Gil  I,  2,  245] 

'Nunca,  dixo  a  este  punto  Sancho  Panza,  he  oido  llamar  con  don 
a  mi  senora  Dulcinea,  sino  solamente  la  senora  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,' — 

[Don  Quixote  II,  3] 

*Y  aunque  nunca  vi  ni  hable 
Sino  a  un  hombre  solamente, 
Que  aqui  mis  desdichas  siente, — ' 

[Calderon  La  Vida  es  sueTio  I,  204J 


88  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

(d)  Italian: 

'Noli  calea  niuna  cosa 
Se  non  de  morte  solamente, 
Quando  uedea  suo  fillio  gente.' 

[Poesie  Relig.  54,  11]* 

(e)  Catalan  (XV  century)  : 

'No  vull  del  mon 
sino  sols  vos, 
puys  som  abdos, 
ha  jam  plaer 
ab  bon  voler 
e  fin  amor.' 

[Jacme  Roig  98,  59-63] 


VII 

When  a  new  verb  is  introduced,  sino  que,  se  no  che,  sino  che,  sendo 
que  are  used  in  Spanish, ^°  Italian,  Catalan  and  Portuguese: 

(a)     Spanish: 

'ca  numqua  fiz  otro  yerro  contra  ti  sino  que  te  quiero  bien — ' 
[Pr.  Cronica  Gen.  43a  29-30] 

'ca  si  el  consejo  que  da  recude  a  bien,  non  ha  otras  gracias 
sinon  que  dizen  que  fizo  su  debdo  en  dar  buen  consejo,  ' 
[Lucanor  52,  20-23] 

'y  no  parecia  sino  que  el  diablo  le  traia  a  la  memoria  los 
cuentos  acomodados  a  sus  sucesos,' — 
[Don  Quixote  I,  5] 


^  For  more  cases  see  Tomniaseo-Bellini,  op.  cit.,  796a. 
1°  In  old  Spanish  sino  tanto  que  was  also  used: 

' — no  fallamos  escriptas  ningunas  cosas  que  de  contar  sean,  si  no 
tanto  que  en  el  dozeno  anno  murio  Cleto  el  papa,' — 

[Pf.  Cronica  Gen.  140a  28-30] 

' — no  fallamos  escripta  ninguna  cosa  que  de  contar  sea,  si  no  tanto 
que  en  el  dezeno,  segund  cuentan  las  estorias,  quexo  el  senado  de  Roma  mucho  a 
Traiano  ell  emperador — '     [Ibid.,   144b   13-16] 

Cf.  also  152a,  155a,  i6ib,  i68b,  176b,  177b,  183b,  etc.,  etc.     An  emphatic  tant 
is  also  used  in  the  old  French  construction,  fors  tant  que,  [Tobler,  89.] 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  89 

(b)  Italian: 

'E  non  so  qui  trovare  altro  compenso 

Se  non  che  '1  tempo  e  breve,  e  i  di  son  ratti ;' 
[Petrarca  Rime  II,  441] 

'ma  io  non  so  chi  egli  si  fu,  se  non  che  uno,  avendomi  recati  danari 
che  egH  mi  dovea  dare  di  panno,  etc' 

[Boccaccio  Dec.  I,  i] 

*0  tranne  tutti  gli  altri,  e  piu  non  chero, 
Se  non  che  tu  mi  lasci  il  mio  Ruggiero.' 
[Ariosto  Orl.  Fur.  IV,  33] 

'Egli  non  fece  al  suo  disio  piu  schermi, 
Se  non  che  cerco  via  di  seco  avermi.' 
[Ibid.  XIII,  9] 

(c)  Catalan: 

'En  bona  fe,  pare,  dix  micer  Sipelleto,  tal  cosa  jo  no  se  que  may  fes, 
sino,  que  es  ver  que  una  vegada  un  home  me  havia  comprats  draps — ' 

[Boccaccio  Dec.  I,  i,  Trad.  Cat.  ed.  Torrents] 

(d)  Portuguese: 

'E  ainda,  Nymphas  minhas,  nao  bastava 
Que  tamanhas  miserias  me  cercassem ; 
Senao  que  aquelles  que  eu  cantando  andava, 
Tal  premio  de  mens  versos  me  tornassem :' 
[Os  Lusiadas  VII,  81] 

'e  nao  so  se  farao  senhores  dos  mesmos  thesouros, 
sem  d'elles  deixar  cousa  alguma.  senao,  que  ate 
a  vossos  proprios  filhos  captivarao, — ' 

[Roquete  Hist.  Sagr.  II,  94] 


VIII 

The  use  of  se — non,  senon  in  positive  questions  without  the  preceding 
negation,  but  apparently,  also  with  the  negative  idea,  as  found  in  old 
French : 

'Sire,  pour  coi  plores?  aves  vos  se  bien  non?'  Ch.  lyon  4605  (Tobler, 
op.  cit.,  p.  70)  and  which  is  also  frequent  later. 


90  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

'Qu'  ai-je  depuis  men  enfance, 
Sinon  tout  in  juste  offense 
Senti  de  mes  plus  prochains — ?' 

[Poet,    dii   XVIe   Steele   du    Bellay    p.    234] 

'Pourquoi  leur  faisons — nous  du  genou  tant  d'honneurs, 
Sinon  pour  leur  richesse? — ' 

[Ibid.  Ronsard  181] 

is  also  a  regular  construction  in  old  and  modern  Spanish : 

*Cosa  tan  con  recabdo  qui  la  ordenaria, 
Si  non  tu  fijo,  madre,  por  qui  todo  venia?' 
[Berceo  Loores  I53cd] 

'Quando  daqui  saldremos  i  que  vestido  leuaremos 
Si  non  el  conuiuio  de  Dios  de  aquell  en  que  creyemos  ?' 

[Appollonio  655  cd] 

*Sus  infinitos  tesoros, 
Sus  villas  y  sus  lugares, 
Su  mandar,  , 

I  Que  le  fueron  sino  lloros? 
I  Que  fueron  sino  pesares 
Al  dexar?' 

[Ant.  poet.  Uric.  cast.  Manrique  III,  108] 

'l  A  Quien  debo  yo  llamar 
Vida  mia, 
Sino  a  ti,  Virgen  Maria?  ' 

[Ibid.,  Juan  del  Encina  IV,   192]^^ 

The  above  construction  is  also  found  in  Portuguese: 

'Com  quem  foram  contino  sopeados 
Estes,  de  quem  o  estais  agora  vos, 
Por  Diniz,  e  su  filho,  sublimados, 
Senao  co'os  vossos  fortes  pais,  e  avos?' 
[Camoens  Lnsiddas  IV,  17] 


11  When  a  new  verb  is  introduced  sino  que  is  used  (cf.  VII)  : 
'l  Que  quiso  significar-  Esto,  sino  que  Castilla 
Devia'  con  gran  mancilla-  La  tal  perdida  llorar  ?' 

[Ant.  Poet.  Lir.  Guzman,  I,  240] 

'i  Que  me  ha  de  parecer,  sino  que  almorcemos?'     iThcbayda  158] 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  KON  —  ESPINOSA  91 


in  Italian : 


'Com  que  melhor  podemos,  hum  dizia, 
Este  tempo  passar,  que  he  tao  pesado, 
Senao  com  algum  conto  de  alegria, 
Com  que  nos  deixe  o  somno  carregado?' 
[Ibid.  VI,  40] 


'Che  poss'  io  far,  temendo  il  mio  signore,^^ 
Se  non  star  seco  infin'  all'  ora  estrema?' 
[Petrarca  Rime  I  Son.  CIX] 


and  in  Catalan 


'i   que  als  divisa 
sino  gran  fum?' 

[Jacme  Roig  45a  4-5; 


IX 


The  independent  use  of  se  non,  sino,  etc.  (=  except,  only)  without 
the  preceding  negation,  as  found  in  old  French : 

'Seur  mer  uint  il  en  un  sablon, 
Mes  par  tens  li  fera  si  mau  non 
Vn  gran  serpens  qui  descendi.' 

[Octavian  (Vollmoller  1883)  585-587] 

'Et  courtois,  ou  vosist  ou  non. 
Car  amours  a  si  courtois  non.' 

[Antecrist  (Wimmer)  70] 

(see  also  Tobler  (op.  cit.  70),  has  a  much  wider  extension  of  use  and 
meaning  in  Spanish,  and  is  found  also  in  other  Romance  languages. 
In  Spanish  and  Italian  sino  que,  se  non  che  are  used  in  the  same  manner 
when  a  new  verb  is  introduced   (see  VII). 


'^-  Se  non  che  is  used  when  a  new  verb  is  introduced  (VII)  : 
'E  che  altro  e  da  voi  all'  idolatre, 
Se  non  ch'  egli  uno,  e  voi  n'orate  cento?' 

[Dante  Inf.  XIX,  113-114] 


92  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

(a)  Spanish: 

'Si  yo  yogues  con  ellos  auria  gran  placimiento, 
Sine  quando  viene  el  dia  del  pasamiento.' 
[Appollonio   131   cd] 

'Los  ssantos  monges  ya  sse  partien 
Ssino  los  que  romanegien.' 

{Egip.    (1907)    846-847] 

'trernio  la  tierra  en  Antiochia  tan  fuerte,  que  se 
destruyo  toda  la  cibdat,  sino  fue  muy  poca  cosa.' 
[Pr.  Cronica  Gen.  144b  33] 

' —  e  orauan  me  todos  todo  bien  et  toda  salud,  si  non  uno 
solo^^  que  estaua  y,  que  nin  se  alegraua  comigo  nin  riye 
como  los  otros.' 

[Ihid.  271a  32] 

'Et  el  infante  dixole  que  bien  le  parescia,  sinon 
quel'  fazian  muy  grand  rroydo  aquellos  estrumentos.' 
[Lucanor  97] 

'mas  ruegovos  por  Dios  que  vos  membreis  del  doncel 
que  es  desamparado  de  todos  sino  de  mi.' 
[Amadis  7,  b34] 

'mas  creo  que  lo  faceis  por  no  haber  razon  de  os 
combatir,  que  a  esta  bora  fallareis  sino  los  diablos.' 
[Ibid,  31a  23] 

'  Dorotea  (que  era  discreta  y  de  gran  donayre)  como 
quien  ya  sabia  el  menguado  humor  de  don  Quixote,  y  que 
todos  hazian  burla  del,  sino  Sancho  Panga,  no  quiso  ser 
para  menos,' — 

[Don  Quixote  I,  XXX] 

(b)  Italian: 

'Che  piangon  dentro,  ov'  ogni  orecchia  e  sorda, 
Se  non  la  mia;' 

[Petrarca  Rime  II  Son.  XXVI] 

'Che  'n  tutto  quel  mio  passo  er'  io  piu  lieta 
Che  qual  d'esilio  al  dolce  albergo  riede ; 
Se  non  che  mi  stringea  sol  di  te  pieta.' 
[Ibid.  II   Tr.  de  Morte  2] 

13  See  VI  b. 


OLD    FRENCH    NE  -  SE  -  NON  —  ESPINOSA  93 

'Ivi  cosi  una  cornice  lega 
Dintorno  il  poggio,  come  la  primaia, 
Se  non  che  I'arco  sno  piu  tosto  piega.' 
[Dante  Purg.  XIII,  4-6] 


(c)     Catalan: 


' —  totes  vixqueren, 
sino  1  damnat 

Judes  pen j at;' 

[Jacme  Roig  209b  2-4] 


BENEDICITEE 

EWALD    FlUGEL 

BENEDICITEE,  inter j.^  Latin  phrase  taken  from  the  song  of  praise  of 
the  three  children  protected  in  the  fiery  oven  (Dan.  3,  57:  Bene- 
dicite  omnia  opera  Domini  Domino  laudate  et  snperexaltate  eum 
in  saecula,  cf.  Ps.  102,  22  Benedicite  Domino  omnia  opera  eius;-  occur- 
ring also  at  the  end  of  the  Mass,''  cf.  Missale  Romanum  Gratiarum  actio 
post  missam ;  sung  also  on  the  Dom.  ad  Laudes,  cf.  Brev.  Rom.  Horae 
Diurnae  3),  used  from  early  times. — /.  as  interjection:  ( i)  as  a  blessing, 
especially  in  greeting  and  at  meals;  (2)  at  the  beginning  of  the  confes- 
sion; (5)  superstitiously,  and  accompanied  by  the  sign  of  the  cross,  as  a 
formula  of  imprecation,  to  protect  against  evil  influences,*  evil  spirits, 
ghosts,  the  Devil.^ 

In  this  latter  use  it  is  possibly  connected  less  with  Dan.  3,  57  than 
with  Dan.  3,  86:  Benedicite  spiritus  et  animae  iustorum  Domino,  laudate 
etc.,®  Ps.  133,  2  Benedicite  Dominum  omnes  servi  Domini  etc.,  although 
Wycliffe^  says  expressly  in  his  interpretation  of  Dan.  3,  57 :  pus  alle 
)?ingis  blessen  god  but  oonli  yuele  men  and  feendis.  In  English  literature 
the  phrase  is  first  found  bef.  1060  Cott.  MS  Cal.  A.  VII  in  the  Charm 
against  bewitched  land:*  Wende  J?e  J?onne  iii  sunganges,  astrece  pe 
)7onne  on  andlang  and  arim  ]>xr  let  aias  and  cweS  J?onne :  Sanctus 
sanctus  sanctus  op  ende.     Sing  ]?onne  Benedicite  aj^enedon  earmon  and 

^  From  the  Chaucer  Dictionary.     For  an  explanation  of  the  abbreviations  see 
Anglia  XXXIV,  1911:  "Prolegomena  and  Side-Notes  to  the  Chaucer  Dictionary." 
-Myrroure  of  oure  Layde  124 :  god  of  hys  specyall  mercy  .  .  .  shall  kepe  hys 
chosen  in  that  fyre  of  trybulacyon  vnhurte  .  .  .     And   in  token  thereof  ys  thys 
fyfte  psalme  Benedicite  songe  at  laudes. 

^G.    Durandus    Rationale    Divin.      Off.    4,    59    De    benedictione    novissima,    ed. 
Koberger   1481   fol.  83. 

*  The  fear  of  evil  influences  is  behind  the  words  in  Li  Romans  de  Carite  i, 
75,  quoted  by  Godefroy  s.  v.  and  explained  as  'priere  en  general' :  Bons  cloistriers 
sans  grande  griete  /  Onkes  silenche  ne  navra :  Ne  doit  nis  en  necessite  /  Parler 
sans  'Benedicite' ;  for  the  sense  of  'exclamation  comme :  Grand  Dieu'  Godefroy 
has  only  one  qu.   from  G.  Chastellain   +    1474. 

^'  A  formula  necessary  in  the  times  of  Antichrist,  see  Myrrour  of  oure  Ladye 
124. 

*■'  Cf.  the  German  phrase :  alle  guten  geister  loben  gott  den  herrn. 

"  Works  ed.  Arnold  3,  62. 

« Grein-Wiilker  Bibl.   i,  314. 


BENEDICITEE  —  FLUGEL  95 

Magnificat  and  Paternoster  iii  and  bebeod  hit  Criste  =  used  as  a  blessing 
to  the  field,  as  prayer  and  imprecation  against  evil  influences ;  later  quota- 
tions:  c  1205  Layamon  A  2,  12^  Heo  {vis.  the  Monks)  comen  to  heore 
abbede?  &  hine  gretten  J^urh  gode.  Lauerd  benedicite?  we  beoS  icumen 
biuoren  ]>t  =  used  as  a  greeting  addressed  by  an  inferior  to  a  superior  ;^ 
c  1225  Ancren  Ritvle  64  hwon  3e  schulen  to  owre  parlures  )?urle  .  .  .  gof? 
forS  mid  godes  drede  [  :  ]  to  preoste  on  erest  siggeS  confiteor  ?  & 
)?erefter  benedicite  J^ast  he  ouh  to  siggen?  herkneS  his  wordes  =  as  a 
greeting  (possibly  connected  with  the  confession)  ;  ib.  44  bitweone  mete 
hwo  se  drinken  wule  sigge  benedicite  potum  nostrum  fiUus  Dei  benedicat 
=  as  a  grace  at  table  ;^°  c  ijoo  Interludiiim  de  Clerico  et  Puella  63  (ed. 
Heuser,  Anglia  30,  308)  Mome  Ellwis:  A  son  vat  saystu?  benedicite? 
Lift  hup  yi  hand  and  blis  ye!  =  as  a  strong  remonstrance  against  the 
wishes  of  the  Clericus,  with  the  additional  thought  that  the  word  might 
avert  evil  influences;  c  1^00  Dame  Siris  795  (Maetzn.  Spr.  Pr.  i.  446 
with  excellent  note)  Benedicite!  be  herinne!  ==  exclamation  of  remon- 
strance;^^ 7J77  Piers  Plo7vman  B  5.  397  (Accidia  confessing)  He  bygan 
benedicite  with  a  bolke  and  his  brest  knocked  /  And  roxed  and  rored  and 
rutte  atte  laste  =  at  the  beginning  of  the  confession,  used  by  the  penitent ; 
7jpo  Gozver  C.  A.  i,  48  The  selue  prest  .  .  .  Was  redy  there  ...  To 
hiere  my  confessioun.  This  worthi  Prest  .  .  .  To  me  spekende  thus 
began  /  And  seide  Benedicite  /  My  sone  .  .  .  Thou  schalt  thee  schrive 
=  the  confessor's  blessing ;  c  1400  Tale  of  Beryn  40  Benedicite  quod  the 
Pardonere  =  exclamation  of  horror  at  the  behavior  of  the  woman ; 
ib.  J14  =  excl.  of  the  girl  frightened  in  her  sleep  ;  ib.  i2/'i  =  imprecation 
against  evil  words;  ib.  lyiS  ==  excl.  of  surprize;  ib.  322^  =  excl.  of 
disgust  and  surprize;  f  7 jo?  Lydgate  Ass.  Gods  1594  A  benedycyte 
noon  ere  cowde  I  aduert  /  To  thynke  on  Andrew  the  Apostyll  =  excl. 
of  astonishment  on  becoming  aware  of  his  omission ;  c  1430  York  Plays 
449>  33  (Petrus)  :  On  goddis  name  benedicite!  What  may  ]?is  mene? 
(Jacobus)  :  Itt  is  a  sperite  .  .  .  that  dose  vse  tene  =  excl.  of  fear  at  the 
apparition  of  Jesus;  c  1450  Toivn.  Plays  24  (Processus  Noe)  A  bene- 
dicite what  art  thou  that  thus  /  Tellys  afore  that  shalle  be?  Thou  art 
fulle  marvellus  =  excl.  of  fear  addressed  by  the  frightened  Noe  to  the 


^  It  must  have  been  the  request  of  the  inferior  to  the  superior  to  pronounce 
the  blessing :  'quia  minor  maiore  praesente  benedicere  non  debet  .  .  .  regulariter 
autem  maior  minori  benedicat,'  G.  Durand,  1.  c.  fol.  S^b. 

10  Cf.  Furnivall  E.  E.  Meals  366  ff. 

11  Maetzner  takes  it  as  "halb  substantiviert" ;  I  take  it  as  interj.  and  'be 
herinne'  as  an  exclamation  Ccf.  also  the  Town.  PI.  85),  a  phrase  lacking  the  subject, 
which  is  'God,'  cf.  German  'Gott  sei  bei  uns !  Gott  steh  uns  bei !  viz..  against  the 
Evil  one,  who,  later,  receives  the  name  of  the  exclamation  euphemistically. 


96  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

voice  of  God ;  ib.  83  Benste !  Benste !  be  us  among  /  And  save  alle  that 
I  se  here  in  this  thrang  =  excl.  of  horror ;  ib.  pp  Benste  and  Dominus  !^- 
What  may  this  bemeyne?  =  excl.  of  fear;  ib.  loy  Benste!  be  here  in! 
So  my  hart  qwakys!  =  excl.  of  the  shepherd  who  awakes  from  a  bad 
dream ;  i^tli  c.  Edinb.  MS  Trent.  Greg.  81  (Anglia  13,  305)  \>t  goste  com 
\>Q  }7yrde  nyght  .  .  .  \>t  pope  .  .  .  hade  negh  lost  hys  wytt  /  Bot  at  J^e 
laste  vp  he  breyde  /  And  rufuUy  }?is  wordis  he  sayde  /  Bene  dicite  in 
Godis  name  /  Wo  is  J^er  ?  =  excl.  of  horror  at  the  apparition  of  the 
ghost,  as  in  15th  c.  Childe  of  Bristowe  239  qn.  by  Kaufmann  Trentalle 

55-'' 

NB  as  a  formula  of  mere  greeting,  "vox  salutationis  apud  monachos 

praesertim  qua  inferior  superiorem  salutat  et  adit"  (Du  Cange  s.  v.), 
the  word  is  not  quoted  between  Layamon,  the  Ancren  Riwle  and  Shake- 
speare Meas.  2,  3,  39  where  the  Duke  (disguised  as  a  friar)  blesses 
Juliet  with  the  words  'Grace  be  with  you!  Benedicite !'  (Exit)  ;  in  Romeo 
2,  3,  31  the  word  has  been  explained  as  a  formula  of  greeting  (see  Alex. 
Schmidt),  but  it  is  rather  an  exclamation  of  surprize,  and,  originally,  of 
fear  at  being  called  upon  so  early  in  the  dawn  of  the  day.^* 

//.  Used  like  a  substantive:  (i)  e  1323  Auchinl.  MS  Guy  3J44 
(Murray)  Gij  .  .  .  3af  him  swiche  brnrdicite  /  )?at  he  brak  his  nek  ato 
=  such  a  blessing  on  his  back;  (2)  in  Elizabethan  writers  transf.  =  con- 
fession; cf.  Tho  Nashe  Have  with  you  &c  (Works  ed.  McKerrow  3,  74) 
vnder  benedicite  here  in  private  be  it  spoken  =  in  absolute  secrecy,  as 
at  confession;  Kemp  Nine  Daies  Wonder  17  (qu.  ib.)  such  Waytes 
(under  Benedicite  be  it  spoken)  fewe  Citties  .  .  .  have  the  like,  none 
better  =  as  at  a  confession  of  the  absolute  truth. 

Prosody.  In  ME  the  word,  is  generally  used  trisyllabic  with  two 
accents,  riming  with  words  in  .  .  .  ee :  ben'  distee' :  occ.  quadrisyllabic : 
Ben'edis'te  (D  Siriz?)  ;  also  dissyllabic,  as  the  spelling  'Benste'  shows 
(Town.  PI.)  or  the  metre  (Freir.  Berw.)  ;  rarely  quinquesyllabic  with 
three  accents,  as  in  the  Childe  of  Bristowe  ("The  child  seid  benedicite"; 
or  is  it  here,  too,  rather  trisyllabic:  The  childe  seide  ben'distee?).  In 
Chaucer  the  spelling  of  MSS.  II,  III,  IV,  \'  3  proves  that  the  word  in  its 

12  This  'dominus'  was  originally  the  necessary  answer  to  the  'benedicite,'  cf. 
Caesarius  v.  Heisterbach  qu.  by  Kaufmann  Trentalle  55 ;  see  also  Durand.  1.  c. 
maior  incipiens  dicat  Benedicite  et  cetcri  respondent  Dotninus. 

13  Cf.  also  Cal.  &  Melib.  33  (Dodsley  Coll.  O.  PI.  i,  54)  What  amiss 
woman,  Christ  benedicite!  and  c  1540  Freir.  Berw,  (Schipper's  Dunbar  421)  Ha 
benedicitee!  Quat  may  this  mene?  (Bannat.  MS;  'Haly  benedicite'  in  Maitl.  MS) 
=  exclamation  of  horror. 

'^*  Romeo  to  Friar:  Good  morrow,  father  I  Friar  to  Romeo:  Benedicite! 
What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me? 


BENEDICITEE  —  FLUGEL  97 

fuller  form  had  two  accents  and  was  pronounced  Ben'distee ;  a  form 
which  was  still  further  contracted  to  *  Bendstee  Benste ;  the  contrac- 
tion *  Bendcite  *  Bencite  suggested  by  Ten  Brink  263  was  first 
given  by  Child  Observations  1862,  p.  492,  §  96,  and  accepted  also  by 
Skeat  5,  166  ('we  must  say  ben'cite'), —  does  not  rest  on  any  MS  proof; 
cf.  also  Kittredge  Obs.  381. 

Prosody  of  the  ivord  in  Chancer.  ( i )  Trisyllabic  with  two  accents : 
Ben'distee  Tr  3X  CT  iix;  (2)  quadrisyllabic  with  two  accents: 
benedic'itee  CT  B  1974  (?  D  1584);  (3)  dissyllabic:  ben'ste  CT  D 
1456,  benstee'  D  2170;    (4)  quinquesyllabic,  with  three  accents:  CT  A 

1785- 

Rimes.  (Tr)  :  he  pron.  :  be  inf.  (CT)  :  dignete  s.  :  meynee  s.  :  tree 
s.  :  see  pres.  subj.  3  sg.  :  flee  inf.  :  be  inf.  :  see  inf.  :  me  pron.  2x  :  thee 
pron.  :  he  pron.  :  ye  pron.  — 

Spelling,  benedicitee  i  8x  2  5X  11;  b^nedicitee  2;  benedicite  6  13X 
7  8x  II  8x  5  7x  2  6x  4  6x  I  5x  I  3x  VI  3x  3  3X  II  2x  V 
2x  8  9  10  14  16  17  19  27;  b^n<?dicite  4  8x  5  6x  3  5x  7  4X  III  2x  VIII  2x 
I  6  II ;  b^n^dicyte  3;  b^n^dicice  3  (  ?)  ;  bendicite  7;  bendiste  IV  3x  Vj 
bendistee  II ;  benediste  III ;  benedyste  3  ;  b^n^diste  3. 

Bless  yon!  Bless  me!  Bless  us! 

( I )  exclamation  of  astonishment,  surprize  mixed  with  fear  at  suddenly 
seeing  someone  (originally  used  as  an  imprecation  against  evil  spirits)  : 

His  nece  a-wook  and  asked  who  goth  Ipere  .  .  . 
My  dere  Nece  quod  he  it  am  I  .  .  . 
What  which  weye  be  ye  comen  benedicite 
Quod  she  and  how  [)7us]vnwyst  of  vs  alle 
Here  at  J?is  secre  trappe  dore  quod  he 

[bendiste  IV] 

Tr  3,  757 
I  am  a  feend  /  my  dwellyng^  is  in  helle  .  .  . 
A  quod  this  Somonowr  /  benedicite  what  sey  ye? 
I  wende  /  ye  were  a  yeman  trewely 
Ye  han  a  mannes  shap<?  /  as  wel  as  I 

[b^n^diste  3] 

Frere  192  D  1456 

This  Somonowr  /  clappeth  at  the  wydwes  gate  .  .  . 
Who  clappeth  seyde  this  wyf^  benedicitee 
God  saue  you  sire  /  what  is  youre  sweete  wille 

Frere  286  D  1584 


98  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

This  frere  cam  /  as  he  were  in  a  rage 
Wher^  as  this  lord  /  sat  etynge  at  his  bord^ 
Vnnethes  /  myghte  the  frere  /  speke  a  worde 
Til  atte  laste  /  he  seyde  /  god  yow  see 
This  lord  bigan  to  looke  /  and  seide  benedicitee 
What  frere  John  ...  Ye  looken  /  as  the  wode  /  were 
fill  of  theiiys 

Som  506  D  2170 

(2)  exclamation  like  modern  'Bless  yon!*  used  as  a  formula  in  which 
the  superstitious  desire  to  ward  off  some  unknown  evil,  some  danger,  is 
uppermost : 

Quod  Pandarus  alias  what  may  )7is  be 
That  ]?ow  desespered  art  }?us  causeles 
What  lyueth  not  J^i  lady  benedicite 

[bendistee  II     benediste  III     bendiste  IV,  V] 


Tr  I,  780 


whan  a  chaumber  a-fyr  is  or  an  halle 
More  nede  is  it  sodeynly  to  rescowe 
Than  to  dispute  and  axe  .  .  . 
A  benedicite  for  al  among  J^at  fare 
The  harm  is  don  and  fare  wel  feld[e]fare 
[bendiste  IV] 


Tr  3.  860 


whan  his  Ire  /  is  thus  agoon 

He  gan  to  looken  vp  /  with  eyen  lighte 

And  spak  thise  same  wordes  /  al  on  highte 

The  god  of  loue  /  A  benedicite 

How  myghty  /  and  how  greet  a  lord  is  he 

Ayeyns  his  myght<?  ther  gayneth  none  obstacles 

Kn  927    A  1785 

I  hadde  almoost  goon  /  to  the  clerkes  bed 
Ey  benedicite  /  thanne  hadde  I  foule  y-sped 
[benedyste  3] 

Reue  366  A  4220 

the  pflrsoii  him  answerde  benedicite 
What  eylej?  ]>e  man  so  synfuUy  to  swere 

Shipm.  Prol.  8  B  1170 


BENEDICITEE  —  FLUGEL  99 


O  seinte  Marie  benedicite 
What  eyleth  /  this  loue  at  me 
To  bynde  me  so  soore 


Thopas  94  B  1974 


Out  of  the  hyue  /  cam  the  swarm  of  bees 
So  hydous  was  the  noyse  /  a  hcnedicitee 
Certes  /  he  lakke  Straw  .  .  . 
Ne  made  /  neu^re  /  shoutes  half  so  shille 

N  Freest  627  B  4583 

What  dostow  /  at  my  neighebores  hous 
Is  she  so  fair  /  artow  so  amorous 
What  rowne  ye  with  our  mayde  benedicite 
Siive  olde  lecchour  /  lat  thy  Tapes  be 

Wyf.  Prol.  D  241 

chidyngf  wyues  /  maken  men  to  flee 
Out  of  hir  owene  house  []  /  a  benedicitee 
What  eyleth  /  swich  an  old  man  for  to  chide 
[house  with  benedicite  8] 

Wyf  Prol.  D  280 

His  olde  wyf  /  lay  smylynge  eurremo 

And  seyde  /  o  deere  housbonde  benedicitee 

ffareth  eu<7ry  knyght  /  thus  ivith  his  wyf  /  as  ye  ? 

Wyf  Tale  231  D  1087 

And  whan  this  yeman  /  hadde  this  tale  ytoM 
Vn-to  oure  boost  /  he  seyde  benedicitee 
This  thyngi*  is  wonder  mcnieillous  to  me 

Chan.  Yem.  75  G  629 

(3)  exclamation  (entirely?)  of  joy: 

euery  lusty  knyght^  .  .  . 

They  wolde  hir  thankes  /  wilnen  to  be  there 

To  fighte  for  a  lady  /  benedicitee 

It  were  a  lusty  sighte  /  for  to  see 

[O  benedicite  5] 

Kn  1257  A  2115 


PROPERTIANA 

B.  O.  Foster 
//.     75.     I  sq. 

O  me  felicem !    o  nox  mihi  Candida !    et  o  tu 
lectule  deliciis  facte  beate  meis ! 

All  the  editors,  beginning  with  Passerat,  who  comment  on  deliciis 
understand  it  to  mean  the  poet's  voluptas,  but  it  is  much  more  probable 
that  Propertius  meant  it  to  signify  his  mistress.  Elsewhere  he  has  the 
word  but  twice,  and  in  both  places  it  is  employed  of  a  person — 

deliciaeque  meae  Latris,  cui  nomen   ab  usu  est, 
ne  speculum  dominae  porrigat  ilia  novae. 

iv.  7.  75  sq. 

felix  intactum  Corydon  qui  temptat  Alexin 
agricolae  domini  carpere  delicias ! 

ii.  34.  73  sq. 

Beate  with  an  ablative  of  the  person  will  then  be  used  precisely  as  in  the 
following  passage — 

nee  quae  deletas  potuit  componere  Thebas, 
Phryne  tam  multis  facta  beata  viris. 

ii.  6.  5  sq. 

A  parallel  to  this  use  of  deliciae  may  be  seen  in  the  gaudia  of  i.  19.  9, 
sed  cupidus  falsis  attingere  gaudia  palmis.  The  sentiment  is  similar  to 
that  in  the  epigram  of  Meleager — 

To  aKv(f>Q<;  '^8v  yeyrjOe  Xeyei  S'  otl  Td<;  (piXepooro'i 
Zr)vo(f>iXa<;  yfravei  rov  XaXtov  aro^jiaro^. 

oX^LOV  €16'  vtt'  ifioi<i  vvv  ')(elXe(Ji  ^(^eiXea  delaa 
aTTveva-Ti  ^lrv')(^av  rav  iv  ifiol  irpoirCot. 

A.  P.  V.   171. 

and  in  these  closing  lines  of  one  by  Agathias 

iropd /xevei  yap  efiotye  kvXc^  Trapa  crov  to  <f)iX7}fia, 
Kai  fioi  airayyeXXei  rrjv  ^apiv  t}V  eXa^ev. 
A.  P.  V.  261,  5  sq. 


PROPERTIANA  —  FOSTER  101 

Or,  for  a  modern  instance,  take  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 

O  happy  Thames  that  didst  my  Stella  bear! 

Sonnet  ciii 

or  the  sonnet  addressed  to  the  Highway,  which  concludes — 

I  wish  you  so  much  bliss 

Hundreds  of  years  you  Stella's  feet  may  kiss. 

Sonnet  Ixxxiv 
//.  27. 

At  vos  incertam,  mortales,  funeris  horam 

quaeritis,  et  qua  sit  mors  aditura  via ;  , 

quaeritis  et  caelo,  Phoenicum  inventa,  sereno, 

quae  sit  stella  homini  commoda  quaeque  mala; 
seu   pedibus    Parthos   sequimur   seu   classe   Britannos,  5 

et  maris  et  terrae  caeca  pericla  viae, 
rursus  et  obiectum  flemus  caput  esse  tumultu 

cum  Mavors  dubias  miscet  utrimque  manus ; 
praeterea  domibus  flammam  domibusque  ruinas, 

neu  subeant  labris  pocula  nigra  tuis.  10 

solus  amans  novit  quando  periturus  et  a  qua 

morte,  neque  hie  Boreae  flabra  neque  arma  timet, 
iam  licet  et  Stygia  sedeat  sub  harundine  remex, 

cernat  et  infernae  tristia  vela  ratis : 
si  modo  clamantis  revocaverit  aura  puellae,  15 

concessum  nulla  lege  redibit  iter. 

7.  flemus  F  L  D  V,  fletus  N,  fletis  Itali. 

The  theme  of  this  elegy  is  the  contrast  between  the  generality  of 
mankind,  who  are  made  anxious  by  a  thousand  dangers,  and  the  lover, 
who  alone  knows  when  and  by  what  death  he  shall  die.  Propertius 
identifies  himself  with  the  lover,  and  addresses  his  poem  to  the  profane 
majority — vos  .  .  .  mortales  .  .  .  quaeritis  .  .  .  quaeritis.  The  shift 
to  first  plural  in  verse  5  (sequimur)  is  not  due  to  carelessness  or  vague- 
ness. As  Rothstein  says,  here  "der  Romer  spricht,"  and  the  line  means 
merely  "whether  Rome  is  warring  on  the  Parthians  or  on  the  Britons." 
There  is  to  be  sure  a  slight  inconcinnnity  of  thought  involved  here,  for 
the  comprehensive  mortales  of  verse  i  has  now  been  narrowed,  in  effect, 
to  Romani,  if,  as  seems  most  natural,  verses  5  sq.  be  taken  as  qualifying 
what  has  preceded.  But  this  is  a  very  venial  sin  against  logic,  and  no  one 
would  be  so  prosaic  as  to  object  to  it  in  Propertius. 

On  the  other  hand  flemus  in  verse  7  is  not  so  easily  explained.    It  is 


102  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

clear  from  rursus  et  that  we  return  in  this  line  to  the  thought  of  verses 
I  to  4.  Again  we  have  the  worries  and  anxieties  of  the  vulgar  throng,  and 
in  verse  7,  as  in  verses  i  to  4.  we  expect  a  second  plural,  not  a  first.  With- 
out looking  any  farther  than  7  sq.  one  would  accept  as  unquestionably  right 
the  fletis  of  some  iniknown  Renaissance  corrector.^  It  is  precisely  what 
the  context  leads  us  to  expect,  and  N's  fletus,  meaningless,  but  close  to 
the  true  reading  in  the  ductus  litterarum,  may  well  have  been  the  link 
between  fletis  and  flemus  (F  L  D  V).  Probably  no  scholar  would  have 
sought  farther  for  the  original  text,  had  it  not  been  for  the  disconcerting 
tuis  of  verse  10.  If  then  it  can  be  shown  that  tuis  is  very  likely  a  false 
reading,  and  that  the  second  plural  holds  throughout  verses  7  to  10,  it 
will  not  be  necessary  to  doctor  up  line  9,  by  substituting  metuis  (L. 
Miiller)  for  the  second  domibusr 

1  There  is,  of  course,  a  chance  that  Professor  Housman's  palaeographically 
neat  fles  in,  deduced  from  N  and  supported  by  tjds  in  vs.  10,  is  right.  But  the  shift 
from  second  plural  to  second  singular  is  uncalled  for  and  painfully  obscure.  Its 
only  warrant,  so  far  as  I  know,  is  the  somev/hat  analogous  transition  in  ii.  25. 
39  sqq. : 

at  vos  qui  officia  in  multos  revocatis  amores, 

quantum  sic  cruciat  lumina  nostra  dolor !  40 

vidistis  pleno  teneram  candore  puellam, 

vidistis  fusco,  ducit  uterque  color ; 
vidistis  quandum  Argiva  prodire  figura, 

vidistis  nostras,  utraque  forma  rapit ; 
illaque  plebeio  vel  sit  sandycis  amictu :  45 

haec  atque  ilia  mali  vulneris  una  via  est. 
cum  satis  una  tuis  insomnia  portet  ocellis, 
una  sit  et  cuivis  femina  multa  mala. 

But  the  shift  from  plural  to  singular  is  here  intolerable,  and  I  think  Propertius 
wrote  not  tuis  (dat.)  but  suis  (abl.).   cf.  i.  i.  i. 

Cynthia  prima  siiis  miserum  me  cepit  ocellis. 

The  expression  would  still,  I  admit,  be  open  to  criticism,  inasmuch  as  mention  of 
sleeplessness  prepares  the  reader  to  take  ocellis  as  dative  with  insomnia.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  tendency  to  do  so  would  readily  account  for  the  alteration  of 
stiis  to  tuis,  in  order  to  fit  that  interpretation  of  the  line,  and  Propertius  may  well 
have  felt  that  the  public's  familiarity  with  the  opening  line  of  the  popular  Monoo- 
biblos  was  an  ample  guarantee  that  suis  ocellis  here  would  cause  no  difficulty 
or   misunderstanding. 

^Flere  frequently  implies  fear,  cf.  Tib.  i.  3.  13  sq. 

tamen  est  deterrita  numquam 
quin  fleret  nostras  respiceretque  vias. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  difficult  to  supply  timetis,  from  fletis,  as  governing  domibus 
flamtnam,  etc.,  and  there  is  not  the   slightest  excuse   for  emending   domibusque 


PROPERTIANA  —  FOSTER  103 

I  believe  that  Propertius  wrote,  in  verse  lo, 

neu  subeant  %!estris  pocula  nigra  labris 

and  that  vcstris,  coming  to  be  contracted  iiris,  was  mis-copied  utis,^  a 
vox  nihili  which  was  then  emended  to  tuis,  a  change  which  made  necessary 
the  transposition  with  labris,  to  mend  the  metre,  and  gave  us  the  verse 
as  it  stands  in  our  MSS.* 

///.     p.      1-20 

Maecenas,  eques  Etrusco  de  sanguine  regum, 

intra  fortunam  qui  cupis  esse  tuam, 
quid  me  scribendi  tam  vastum  mittis  in  aequor? 

non  sunt  apta  meae  grandia  vela  rati, 
turpe  est  quod  nequeas  capiti  committere  pondus  5 

et  pressum  inflexo  mox  dare  terga  genu, 
omnia  non  pariter  rerum  sunt  omnibus  apta, 

palma  nee  ex  aequo  ducitur  ulla  iugo. 
gloria  Lysippo  est  animosa  effingere  signa ; 

exactis  Calamis  se  mihi  iactat  equis ;  lo 

in  Veneris  tabula  summam  sibi  poscit  Apelles ; 

Parrhasius  parva  vindicat  arte  locum ; 
argumenta  magis  sunt  Mentoris  addita  formae ; 

at  Myos  exiguum  flectit  acanthus  iter ; 
Phidiacus  signo  se  luppiter  ornat  eburno  ;  15 

Praxitelen  propria  vindicat  urbe  lapis, 
est  quibus  Eleae  concurrit  palma  quadrigae, 

est  quibus  in  celeres  gloria  nata  pedes ; 
hie  satus  ad  pacem,  hie  castrensibus  utilis  armis : 

naturae  sequitur  semina  quisque  suae.  20 

Verse  8.  palma  Itali ;  fama  *in  aliis  codicibus  legitur'  Beroaldus ; 
flamma  N  F  V  {f lamina  L  D). 

in  order  to  eliminate  the  repetition.  Lachmann  did  so  (substituting  dominisque) , 
but  Lachmann  had  forgotten  i.  2.  30  quaeque  -  quaeque,  i.  7.  17  longe  -  longe,  i.  8. 
S7  quamvis  magna  -  quamvis  maiora,  i.  20.  26  hunc  super  -  hunc  super,  i.  20.  32 
ibat  -  ibat,  ii.  6.  41  numquam,  numquam,  iii.  9.  45  haec  urant  -  hacc  urant,  iii.  11.  65 
liaec  di  -  haec  di,  iii.  13.  49  auro  -  auro,  and  many  other  places. 

3  For  confusion  of  t  and  r  in  MSS.  of  Propertius,  see  Professor  Housman  in 
Journ.  of  Phil.  xvi.  p.  32,  where  he  cites  i.  i.  35  vitate  ]  vitare  F,  i.  i.  29  ferte  ] 
ferre  A,  i.  i.  31  remanete]  remanere  A.  cf.  Friedrich  Cat.  p.  62,  who  cites  11.  15 
nuntiate  ]  nuntiare  O,  12.  i  Marrucine  ]  Matrucine  O  G,  14.  18  curram  ]  cur  tam  G. 

*  Propertius  has  labris  again  to  close  the  pentameter  -  ponit  vix  siccis  tristia 
iura  labris  (iv.  9.  64). 


104  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

The  elegy  of  which  the  first  third  is  printed  above  is  the  poet's  reply 
to  Maecenas,  who  has  asked  him  to  undertalce  an  epic  theme.^  After  the 
address  (i  sq.)  verses  3  to  6  plead  strength  inadequate  to  the  burden  which 
Maecenas  would  lay  upon  his  shoulders.  Verses  7  to  20  develop  the 
dogma  that  to  win  renown  a  man  must  make  some  one  kind  of  endeavor 
peculiarly  his  own.  Not  all  things  are  fit  for  all  men  (7)  :  Lysippus's 
glory  comes  from  the  spirit  he  succeeded  in  giving  his  statues,  that  of 
Calamis  from  his  finished  horses,  etc.  Even  Mys  was  reckoned 
among  the  masters,  though  for  so  slight  a  thing  as  skill  in  carving 
acanthus.    "Each  follows  the  seed  that  his  nature  has  planted."  ^ 

My  note  is  concerned  with  verse  8,  a  line  which  has  provoked 
several  ingenious  interpretations,  only  to  be  pronounced  "obscure"  by 
Propertius's  latest  editor. 

The  Roman  poets  have  a  deal  to  say  about  their  originality.  That 
they  copied  Greek  masters  they  were  themselves  the  first  to  point  out,  and 
they  claimed  the  discipleship  as  a  virtue,  but  their  scramble  for  precedence 
in  the  introduction  of  the  various  branches  of  Greek  poetry  to  Latin 
readers  is  amusingly  na'ive  It  is  almost  as  though  they  felt  that  priority 
in  a  given  kind  implied  a  sort  of  monopoly.  That  a  man  should  write  well 
was  not  enough :  he  must,  if  possible,  make  good  his  claim  to  exclusive 
ownership  of  some  corner,  no  matter  how  small,  of  the  field  of  poetry. 
It  is  in  this  spirit  that  Ennius  attacks  the  presumption  of  certain  uncouth 
versifiers  who  might  be  thought  to  have  anticipated  him — 

scripsere  alii  rem 
versibus  quos  olim  Faunei  vatesque  canebant ; 
cum  neque  musarum  scopulos  <  quisquam  superarat  > 
nee  dicti  studiosus  erat 

Ennius,  Ann.  221  sqq. 

He  seems  to  have  effectually  ousted  these  precarious  tenants — mere 
squatters,  as  it  were,  upon  his  claim — for  Lucretius  gives  him  a  clear  title 
to  the  premises — 

Ennius  ut  noster  cecinit  qui  primus  amoeno, 
detulit  ex  Helicone  perenni  fronde  coronam 
per  gentes  Italos  hominum  quae  clara  clueret. 
Lucr.  i.  117  sqq. 


^  This  is  clear  from  the  latter  part  of  the  poem,  vv.  47  sqq. 
^  Postgate,  Selections  ad  loc. 


PROPERTIANA  —  FOSTER  105 

and  Propertius  recognizes  in  him  the  (Latin)  originator  of  epic — 

Visus  eram  molli  recubans  Hehconis  in  umbra, 

Bellerophontei  qua  fluit  umor  equi, 
reges,  Alba,  tuos  et  regum  fata  tuorum, 

tantum  operis,  nervis  hiscere  posse  meis ; 
parvaque  tam  magnis  admoram  fontibus  ora,  5 

unde  pater  sitiens  Ennius  ante  bibit ; 
et  cecinit  Curios  fratres  et  Horatia  pila, 

regiaque  AemiHa  vecta  tropaea  rate,  etc. 

Prop.  iii.  3.  I  sqq. 

In  another  department  Lucretius  makes  the  same  assertion  of  priority 
in  his  own  behalf — 

avia  Pieridum  peragro  loca  nullius  ante 
trita  solo,     iuvat  integros  accedere  fontis 
atque  haurire,  iuvatque  novos  decerpere  flores 
insignemque  meo  capiti  petere  inde  coronam 
unde  prius  nulli  velarint  tempora  Musae ; 

Lucr.  i.  926  sqq. 

In  a  like  strain  Vergil — 

primus  ego  in  patriam  mecum,  modo  vita  supersit, 
Aonio  rediens  deducam  vertice  Musas ; 

Verg.  Geor.  iii.  10  sq. 

and  in  another  place — 

iuvat  ire  iugis  qua  nulla  priorum 
Castaliam  molli  devertitur  orbita  clivo. 

Geor.  iii.  292  sq. 

Horace  too  boasts  himself 

princeps  Aeolium  carmen  ad  Italos 
deduxisse  modos. 

Hor.  Carm.  iii.  30.  13  sq. 


and  again- 


libera  per  vacuum  posui  vestigia  princeps, 
non  aliena  meo  pressi  pede.    qui  sibi  fidet 


106  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

dux  reget  examen.    Paries  ego  primus  iambos 
ostendi  Latio,  numeros  animosque  secutus 
Archilochi,  iion  res  et  agentia  verba  Lycamben. 

Ep.  i.  19.  21  sqq. 

and  a  few  lines  below — 

hunc  [Alcaeum]  ego,  non  alio  dictum  prius  ore,  Latinus 
vulgavi  fidicen.     iuvat  immemorata  ferentem 
ingenuis  oculisque  legi  manibusque  teneri. 

Ibid.  32  sqq/ 

Propertius,  too,  sets  up  a  like  claim  in  the  beginning  of  his  third 
book — 

Callimachi  manes  et  Coi  sacra  Philetae, 

in  vestrum,  quaeso,  me  sinite  ire  nemus. 

primus  ego  ingredior  puro  de  fonte  sacerdos 
Itala  per  Graios  orgia  ferre  choros. 

Prop.  iii.   I.  I  sqq. 

and,  a  few  lines  further  on — 

sed,  quod  pace  legas,  opus  hoc  de  monte  Sororum 

detulit  intacta  pagina  nostra  via. 
mollia,  Pegasides,  date  vestro  serta  poetae : 

non  faciet  capiti  dura  corona  meo. 

Ibid.  17  sqq. 

and  again, 

dixerat,  et  plectro  sedem  mihi  monstrat  eburno, 
qua  nova  muscoso  semita  facta  solo  est. 

iii.  3.  25  sq. 

and,  in  the  fourth  book,  the  Babylonian  says  to  the  poet: 

at  tu  finge  elegos,  fallax  opus :  haec  tua  castra ! — 
scribat  ut  exemplo  cetera  turba  tuo. 

iv.  I.  135  sq. 

In  these  and  other  places  originality — with  the  limitation  already 
noted — is  claimed  for  their  work  by  the  several  poets.    Their  achievement 

■'Contrast  Serrti'.  i.   10.  48,  where  Horace  accounts  himself  in  satire  inventore 
minor. 


PROPERTIANA  —  FOSTER  107 

is  likened  to  scaling  the  mount  whereon  the  Muses  dwell  (Ennius, 
Lucretius,  Vergil,  Propertius),  whence  they  bring  down  (detulit 
Lucretius,  Propertius;  deducam  Vergil;  deduxisse,  Horace)  the  Muse 5 
(Vergil),  or  a  garland  (Lucretius,  Propertius),  or  fresh  draughts  of 
water  (Lucretius,  Propertius),  or  simply  their  poetry  itself  (Horace, 
Propertius). 

In  the  light  of  these  passages  must  be  interpreted  Prop.  iv.  10.  i  sqq. 

Nunc  lovis  incipiam  causas  aperire  Feretri 
armaque  de  ducibus  trina  recepta  tribus. 

magnum  iter  ascendo,  sed  dat  mihi  gloria  vires : 
non  iuvat  e  facili  lecta  corona  iugo. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  last  distich  belongs  with  the  places  cited 
above.  The  'easy  ridge'  is  here  that  of  erotic  elegy,  which  the  poet  is 
quitting  for  a  more  arduous  ascent, — of  the  peak  where  heroic  elegy 
flourishes.  Observe  that  the  metaphor  in  iugo  is  essentially  the  same 
metaphor  that  we  have  found  already  in  such  passages  as  Lucretius  i. 
117  sqq.,  where  Helicon  means  the  source  of  poetry.  In  Propertius  iv. 
10  the  iugiim  is  specialized ;  no  longer  the  hill  of  the  Muses,  the  source 
of  all  poetry,  it  is  become  the  particular  hill  set  apart  for  a  single  kind 
of  poetry.  Corona  is,  of  course,  the  emblem  of  supremacy  in  whatever 
department  happens  to  be  concerned. 

We  are  now  ready  to  explain  iugo  in  iii.  9.  If  we  may  not  say  that  it 
is  precisely  Helicon,  the  home  of  the  Sisters  Nine,  it  is,  at  least,  used  in 
a  figurative  sense  closely  akin  to  the  metaphorical  Helicon,  and  derived 
from  it,  just  as  iugo  was  found  to  be  used  in  iv.  10.  We  must  not  then 
with  Professor  Postgate  (Selections)  take  it  as  a  yoke,  comparing  the 
€^i<T(oa-avT€  ^vyd  of  Soph.  El.  738;  nor  need  we  consider  seriously 
Passerat's  notion  (adopted  by  Schulze,  Rom.  Eleg.) :  ducere  famam  ex 
IUGO,  translatum  ah  aquis  quae  ducuntur  et  derivantur  in  locis  inferioribus; 
nor  the  equally  fanciful  interpretation  of  Rothstein,  who,  reading  flamma 
(with  N  F  V),  would  have  the  line  mean  'nor  is  any  lire-signal  given 
from  a  level  ridge.'  ^  But  I  feel  sure  that  Rothstein  is  right  in  his 
(implied)  interpretation  of  aequo  iugo  as  a  '  level'  or  'even  ridge.' 
Certainly  aequo  can  not  here  mean  facili  ascensu,  as  Lachmann  thought, 
and  Hertzberg  correctly  pointed  out  the  difference  between  the  idea 
underlying  our  verse  and  that  at  iv.  10.  4.    In  the  latter  case  there  is  no 

8  Besides  the  overwhelming  evidence  of  the  parallel  passages  cited  above  there 
are  further  difficulties  in  the  way  of  Rothstein's  view.  Flamma  and  ducitur  must 
each  be  taken  in  a  forced  and  unnatural  way,  nor  is  the  metaphor  to  be  paralleled, 
so  far  as  I  know. 


108  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

thought  of  rivalry.  It  is  a  question  of  forsaking  an  easy  path  for  a 
steeper  one.  In  our  passage,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  matter  of  being 
highest  among  one's  competitors,  whether  the  peak  in  question  be  epic 
(a  lofty  mountain),  or  erotic  verse  (a  hillock).  The  distich  will  then 
mean  "All  things  are  not  equally  fit  for  all  men,  nor  is  any  palm  fetched 
down  from  a  level  ridge."  That  is  to  say  "One  man  is  good  at  one  thing, 
another  man  at  another  thing,  nor  does  anybody  win  a  prize  of  victory 
for  achieving  just  what  his  neighbor  achieves."  If  our  mountain  were 
an  even,  level  ridge,  so  that  it  might  be  climbed  by  several,  let  us  say 
parallel,  paths,  all  of  which  reached  the  same  altitude,  no  climber  could 
outclimb  any  other.  It  must  be  a  ridge  of  many  peaks,  some  higher,  some 
lower,  each  of  which  when  appropriated  by  some  one  poet  confers  upon 
him  a  peculiar  distinction  of  his  own.  It  is  the  familiar  notion  of 
exclusive  rights  to  some  one  kind  of  endeavor.  Propertius  means  that 
another  has  already  preempted  the  epic  peak,  and  that  his  own  prize 
must  be  sought  on  the  hill  of  elegy — where  no  predecessor  has  anticipated 
him.» 

As  to  the  textual  question, — if  we  reject  flamma,  which  is  read  by  the 
good  MSS.,  but  will  not  suit  the  context,  we  must  agree  with  Mr.  Butler 
that  palma  is  preferable  to  fama,  on  palaeographical  grounds,  since  it 
might  more  easily  give  rise  to  the  corruption  flamma.  (Perhaps 
palma  >  plama  >  flama  >  flamma  >  flamina).  Moreover  palma  'palm- 
branch'  is  more  concrete  than  fam-a,  and  corona  at  iv.  lo.  4  is  to  be 
reckoned  in  its  favor.^"  Finally,  if  my  view  of  aequo  iugo  be  right,  palma 
(implying  supremacy)  is  more  logical  than  fama  (implying  merely 
excellence).  It  is  not  true  that  one  must  outstrip  all  competitors  to  win 
fame,  but  certainly  one  can  not  otherwise  gain  the  price. 

8  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  how  Propertius  would  have  disposed  of  the 
claims  of  Catullus  and  Gallus,  not  to  speak  of  Tibullus. 
"  With  Propertius's  use  of  the  figure  of.  also 

mollia  Pegasides  date  vestro  serfa  poetae : 
non  faciet  capiti  dura  corona  meo. 

iii.  I.  19  sq. 

The  word  palma  is  similarly  used  as  symbolical  of  supremacy,  in  the  speech  of 
the  soothsayer: 

ilia  parit :  libris  est  data  palma  meis. 

iv.  I.  102. 
and  again, 

nam  tibi  victrices  quascumque  labore  parasti 
eludit  palmas  una  puella  tuas  r""""' 

Ibid.  139  sq. 


PROPERTIANA  —  FOSTER  109 

Hertzberg's  interpretation  approximates  that  set  forth  above.  He 
saw  that  the  idea  in  our  verse  was  somewhat  different  from  that  at  iv. 
lo.  4,  and  showed  the  flaw  in  Lachmann's  note,  as  I  have  said.  But  he 
failed  to  see  that  aequo  meant  'level,'  and  tried  to  explain  it  as  'equal,' 
i.  e.,  with  another.  This  was  overworking  aequo,  nor  is  there  any  need 
of  it,  if  iugo  be  understood  as  a  'ridge'  or  'range'  rather  than  as  a  single 
'peak.'  That  Propertius  himself  so  used  it  at  i.  12.  10,  where  he  has  the 
phrase  Prometheis  iugis,  is  the  opinion  of  Schulze,  who  cites  in  support 
of  this  interpretation  a  passage  in  Caesar  where  it  unquestionably  bears 
the  meaning  'ridge,'  or  'range,'  viz.,  B.  G.  vii.  36.  2  omnibus  eius 
iugi  coUibus  occupatis;  and  I  may  add  Liv.  xxxiii.  6.  9  quia  colles 
perpetuo  iugo  inter erant.  The  word  aequus  is  used  in  the  sense  which  I 
assign  it  here,  e.  g.,  at  Caesar  B.  G.  vii.  44.  3  constabat  inter  omnes 
dorsum  esse  eius  iugi  prope  aequum. 

III.     I  "J.     2()  sqq. 

Candida  laxatis  onerato  coUa  corymbis 

cinget  Bassaricas  Lydia  mitra  comas,  30 

levis  odorato  cervix  manabit  olivo, 

et  feries  nudos  veste  fluente  pedes, 
mollia  Dircaeae  pulsabunt  tympana  Thebae, 

capripedes  calamo  Panes  hiante  canent, 
vertice  turrigero  iuxta  dea  magna  Cybelle  35 

tundet  ad  Idaeos  cymbala  rauca  choros. 
ante  fores  templi  crater  antistitis  auro 

libatum  fundens  in  tua  sacra  merum. 

The  context  shows  that  we  must  have  a  future  verb  in  the  last 
distich  to  complete  the  series  cinget — manabit — feries — pulsabunt — canent 
— tundet.  To  supply  est,  or  even  erit,  with  the  editors,  would  perhaps 
satisfy  the  demands  of  grammar,  but  the  passage  would  be  absurdly 
feeble,  with  such  a  conclusion.  I  suspect  that  Propertius  wrote  libabit 
in  verse  38 — "Before  the  doors  of  the  temple  the  bowl  of  the  priest  shall 
offer  sacrifice  of  wine,  pouring  it  from  golden  cup  in  honor  of  thy  rites." 
The  personification  of  the  crater  needs  no  justification  here,  as  it  is 
rightly  understood  by  the  editors,  who  compare,  inter  alia, 

pax  aluit  vites  et  sucos  condidit  uvae, 

funderet  ut  nato  testa  paterna  merum: 

Tib.  i.  10.  47  sq. 


110  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

Propertius  himself  has  something  very  similar  in 

sit  mensae  ratio,  noxque  inter  pocula  currat, 
et  crocino  naris  murreus  ungat  onyx. 

Prop.  iii.  10.  21  sq. 

And   it  is  worth  noting  that  he  twice  elsewhere  uses  libare  with   an 
impersonal  subject — 

dum  vernat  sanguis,  dum  rugis  integer  annus, 
utere,  ne  quid  eras  libet  ab  ore  dies ! 

iv.  5.  59  sq. 

spargite  me  lymphis,  carmenque  recentibus  aris 
tibia   Mygdoniis   libet   eburna   cadis. 

iv.  6.  7  sq. 

The  corruption  was  perhaps  owing  to  confusion  of  the  contraction 
for  libabit  (viz.,  libab  with  a  cross  stroke  through  b)  with  that  for 
libatum  {libaf  with  an  apostrophe  over  t).  See  Professor  Lindsay's  Con- 
tractions in  Early  Latin  Minuscule  MSS.,  p.  49  sq. 


I 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS 
fabretti  2342-2346 

George  Hempl 

How  I,  a  Germanic  scholar,  came  to  be  interested  in  Venetic  and  Etrus- 
can, I  have  told  in  my  report  on  the  results  of  my  Italic  studies. 
This  report  has  been  delayed,  chiefly  by  the  difficulties  inherent  in 
such  an  undertaking,  but  it  will  now  be  published  in  a  very  short  time.  The 
present  paper  is  an  abstract  from  it.  A  few  weeks  before  his  death,  Professor 
Matzke  urged  me  to  hasten  the  publication  of  my  report.  He  said  that  my 
silence  was  being  misinterpreted,  and  that  I  owed  it  not  only  to  myself  but 
also  to  my  friends  to  publish  something  at  once  —  if  only  a  fragment.  I 
was  touched  by  what  he  said  and  the  way  in  which  he  said  it.  It  was 
almost  exactly  what  another  friend,  Otto  Jespersen,  had  written  me  from 
Copenhagen  not  long  before,  and  what  still  others,  as  if  by  concert,  now 
began  to  urge  upon  me.  I  saw  the  force  of  their  arguments  and  decided  to 
drop  everything  else  and  complete  my  report.  And  now  that  Fate  has  sud- 
denly cut  short  the  life  of  one  of  them,  I  can  find  no  more  appropriate 
tribute  to  lay  on  his  grave  than  the  fragment  he  so  recently  urged  me  to 
publish.  If  it  seems  abrupt  or  takes  things  for  granted  that  I  have  given  in 
the  report  but  could  not  well  incorporate  here,  scholars  will,  I  trust,  con- 
sider the  circumstances  of  publication.  There  are,  however,  a  few  matters 
of  a  general  character  that  must  be  briefly  touched  upon  before  I  proceed 
with  the  interpretation  of  the  inscriptions. 

Etruscan  is  a  sister  of  Latin.  In  their  earlier  stages  the  two  languages 
can  hardly  be  distinguished.  But  Etruscan  matured  far  more  rapidly  and 
had  already  passed  into  old  age  when  Latin  was  only  attaining  her  majority. 
To  put  it  otherwise,  Etruscan  is  an  Italic  dialect  that  became  a  modern 
Romanic  language  in  ancient  times.  Many  of  the  forms,  phonological 
changes,  and  other  linguistic  phenomena  that  we  are  wont  to  regard  as  char- 
acteristic of  modern  languages,  are  to  be  found  in  Etruscan  long  before  the 
days  of  Julius  Caesar.  The  development  of  the  language,  from  the  early 
stage  when  it  was  almost  identical  with  Latin,  down  to  the  time  when  it  was 
so  different  that  the  Romans  regarded  it  as  a  totally  alien  tongue,  can  be 
traced  step  by  step  on  the  chiseled  monuments  that  stand  in  our  museums. 
In  attempting  to  read  Etruscan,  scholars  have,  however,  largely  confined 
themselves  to  a  study  of  late  inscriptions,  and  have  permitted  the  relatively 


112  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

modern  forms  that  they  there  found  to  bUnd  them  to  the  original  character 
of  the  language  —  much  as  Old-English  scholars  once  did  with  West  Saxon. 
The  situation  in  which  the  philological  world  at  present  finds  itself  with  ref- 
erence to  Etruscan  is  as  regrettable  as  it  is  extraordinary.  The  kinship  of 
Etruscan  and  Latin  lies  open  for  all  men  to  observe,  and  yet  this  fact  is 
denied  by  practically  all  Indo-European  philologists.  Moreover,  the  study 
of  this  important  Italic  language  has  been  permitted  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
a  school,  which  has  made  of  this  denial  a  cardinal  dogma  and  has  prescribed 
for  its  disciples  a  rule  of  conduct,  or  only-legitimate  method  of  study. 
Here,  carefully  screened  from  the  light  of  Indo-European  philology,  ' '  Etrus- 
cologists "  spin  airy  webs,  while  without,  in  the  busy  world  of  learning, 
scholars  concern  themselves  with  other  things.  It  would  be  impossible  for 
me  here  to  discuss  the  situation  in  detail.  I  must,  in  this  paper,  restrict 
myself  to  the  presentation  of  three  very  early  inscriptions,  and  I  shall  be 
satisfied  if  I  succeed  in  making  it  clear  that  early  Etruscan  can  scarcely  be 
distinguished  from  Old  Latin. 

The  inscriptions  will  be  found  in  Fabretti's  Corpiis,  Tab.  xlii,  2343- 
2346.  All  I  know  about  their  origin  is  what  Fabretti  quotes*  on  page  cciv, 
namely,  that  they  are  from  various  friezes  or  paintings  found  in  ancient 
Etruscan  tombs  near  Corneto-Tarquinii.  So  far  as  I  can  learn,  their  gen- 
uineness has  never  been  questioned,  nor  their  Etruscan  character.  A  study 
of  the  forms  of  the  letters  shows  that  we  have  three,  not  four,  inscriptions  ; 
for  2345  and  2346  are  parts  of  one  and  the  same.  The  first  two  give  the 
names  etc.  of  the  dead  ;  the  last  (2346-2345)  pertains  to  the  formalities  of 
cremation.  I  can  not  detect  any  material  difference  in  age,  either  epi- 
graphic  or  linguistic.  Perhaps  the  forms  of  the  letter  for  a  prove  2344  to  be 
the  oldest,  and  2346-2345  to  be  the  youngest.  According  to  Etruscan  cus- 
tom, the  writing  runs  from  right  to  left,  but  I  have  reproduced  it  in  our 
way.  I  have  also  substituted  for  the  Etruscan  characters  the  conventional 
transcription,  in  Italics,  and  have  added  the  phonetic  transcription  in  Roman. 

In  the  grammatical  discussion,  a  prefixed  asterisk  (*)  marks  a  recon- 
structed word  or  form  ;  a  prefixed  period  (.)  indicates  phonetic  spelling. 
An  apostrophe  (')  before  an  .1  .m  .n  or  .r  signifies  that  the  consonant  is 
syllabic.  The  letters  .y  and  .w  represent  the  voiced  fricative  consonants 
heard  in  English  ye  and  woo.  The  macron  (~)  is  added  to  a  long  vowel, 
rather  than  placed  over  it.  The  pitch  accents  of  Greek  and  Sanskrit 
are  indicated  by  the  usual  signs.  The  sign  for  stress,  in  accordance  with 
the  best  modern  usage,  precedes  the  stressed  syllable  ;  but,  to  avoid  misun- 
derstanding, I  use  the  grave  (^),  in  order  that  it  may  point  toward  the  syl- 

*"essais  des  differ entes  f rises  ou  peintures  qui  se  troiivent  dans  les  souterrains 
des  anciens  £.trusques  pres  de  Corneto  (Piranesi  De  Rom.  niagnificentia  et  archi- 
tectura,   Romae    1761)." 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS  —  HEMPL  113 

lable  to  be  stressed,  not  away  from  it.  I  have  indicated  the  stress  only  when 
it  has  shifted  from  the  initial  syllable.  The  phonetic  characters  employed 
are  the  usual  ones,  the  vowels  having  their  German  values,  and  the  consonants 
their  English.  The  turned  e  (.a)  stands  for  an  obscure  vowel,  for  example, 
that  beginning  the  word  ago  and  that  ending  the  name  Anna.  Small  capital 
.K  and  .G  represent  the  velar  stops  in  cook  (.kuk)  and  good  (.gu^),  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  more  palatal  sounds  in  kick  (.kik)  and  gh'e  (.giv).  A 
curl  over  a  velar  consonant  indicates  labialization.  Thus  we  hear  quick 
sometimes  as  .icik,  sometimes  as  .Kwik.  Compare  also  alive  (.a'laiv), 
devout  (.diVaut),  eatable  (.i"t3b'l),  Wednesday  (.wenzdi),  purely 
(.pyu~rU),  etc.  s'  is  a  conventional  way  of  representing  a  distinct  j-sound 
usually  due  to  contraction  ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  accent,  r'  represents 
an  Umbrian  variety  of  r. 

It  should  be  noted  that,  as  in  most  other  early  scripts,  no  graphic  distinc- 
tion is  made  between  voiced,  voiceless,  and  aspirated  stop  consonants.  Thus 
/  may  stand  for  pure  .t,  for  aspirated  .t,  or  for  .d,  and  p  for  .p,  aspirated  .p, 
or  .b,  etc. ;  just  as  we  use  s  for  .s  (as  in  so)  and  for  .z  (as  in  rose).  Fur- 
thermore, 6  <f>  X  are  employed  with  exactly  the  same  values  as  tp  k  (or  c). 
Thus,  while  k  stands  for  .k  or  .g  ,  x  too  may  stand  for  .k  or  .G  .  Simi- 
larly in  English,  while  k  stands  for  .k  (for  example,  in  /took),  so  too,  c 
may  stand  for  .k  (as  in  cool),  while  it  may  also  stand  for  .s  (for  example,  in 
city  etc.).  Moreover,  in  Etruscan  a  u  may  stand  for  .u  or  .o  ,  or  for  an 
obscure  vowel  (like  that  in  Latin  optumus  or  optimus),  while  v  too  may 
stand  for  .u  or  .o  ,  or  for  a  similar  consonant  (.w  .f  etc.). 

I  should  state  that  in  Etruscan,  as  in  primitive  Italic  generally,  the 
stress  originally  fell  on  the  first  syllable.  From  this  it  shifted  in  Latin  to  a 
long  penult  or  to  the  syllable  preceding  a  short  penult.  In  Etruscan  a  dif- 
ferent principle  prevailed.  The  stress  regularly  stayed  on  the  first  syllable  if 
that  contained  a  long  vowel  or  a  diphthong.  If  it  contained  a  short  vowel, 
the  stress  shifted  to  the  nearest  long  vowel  or  diphthong  ;  see  'Kermupi, 
(pericaru,  stani,  etc.,  below.  This  shift  is  often  betrayed  by  the  reduction  of 
the  vowel  of  the  initial  syllable  (for  example,  ;z«(^(?^j' =  .na^po'ts'  < 
.nepo-ts,  Latin  nepo's,  'grandson,'  Lemnos  Stone ;  also  .a(n)n3^ke~,  vari- 
ously spelled  annice  (F.  iii,  391),  eneke  (F.  2614),  uneke  (F.  i,  234), 
unuke  (Gamurrini,  607  and  608)  'granted,  gave,'  Latin  annuit  'assented, 
granted, '  see  also  raned  below)  ;  or  by  its  total  disappearance  (see  fravvniv 
page  122  ;  Bne  <  to/xt;,  page  116;  and  eca  s'udis  (.e'Ka~  s'uttis  <  .Ksup-ti-s 
'  the  down  below ' )  'this  tomb,'  F.  Tab.  xli.  2183,  later  ca  suOi,  F.  1933, 
CIE.  4539)  ;  sometimes  by  other  phonological  changes.  Compare  also 
Mliduns  =-  .mli'to"ns  <  MtXiTCoi/,  Plunice  =^  .plu^ni'ka  <  IToXui/et/c?;?, 
etc.,  which  caused  Skutsch  and  others  trouble.  The  shift  took  place  at  a 
very  early  date,  after  the  shortening  of  final  -o~  (see  VecaB  below)  but 
before  the  change  of  medial  -d-  to  -1-  (see  dri^tent,  page  121). 


114  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 


FABRETTI    2343 

This  inscription  was  cut  on  the  beveled  edges  of  the  octagonal  capital  of 
a  column.  Unable  to  read  the  text,  scholars  did  not  know  where  it  began, 
and  guessed  wrong. 

Vecad     'Kermupi    <^ericaru      :n  stani      puru     hem: 

(.weKat  kerma'bi"  peri^Ka"ro  n[a~to]  stan^ni"  pu~ro  hem) 
'Vecath,  the  beloved  son  of  Chermupu,  a  man  free  of  alloy,' 

It  will  be  observed  that  there  are  two  puncts  at  the  end  of  the  legend, 
and  also  before  the  abbreviation  n  =  natu. 

Except  for  the  loss  of  final  -o"  in  Vecad  and  hem,  the  inscription  might 
be  Old  Latin  as  well  as  Etruscan. 

Vecad  (.weKat)  <  .wexato",  Greek  ^Fe/carcoi',  'E/caTwy,  whence  Latin 
Hecato.  The  true  Latin  form  would  be  *  Vecato,  but  I  find  no  trace  of 
such  a  name  in  Italy,  see  Y^enmipi  below.  In  Etruscan  a  final  long  -o 
regularly  shortened  after  a  short  syllable  (compare  iambic  shortening  in 
Latin*)  and  early  fell  away.  The  shortening  obviously  took  place  earlier 
than  the  shift  of  stress  spoken  of  above.  With  Vecad  from  .weKato",  com- 
pare hem  from  .hemo"  below.  Also  Uni  (.u~ni  «<  .u~nio  ■<  .u~nio~ 
<  ,yu"no~)  'Juno,'  and  %iiplQa,  page  115.  With  these,  contrast  names  like 
Lam  (.la~ro''),  spelled  Laaro  in  Latin,  and  Mam  (.marVo~),  page  116; 
and  such  a  verb  as  niceOii  (.nik(9)'to"')  'pledge,'  Latin  yiecto  'bind,  oblige, 
pledge,'  F.  2404. 

YL.ermupi  (.kerma^bi")  is  the  genitive  of  the  name  Kepa/jL/3o<;.  Such 
changes  as  -am-  >  -am-  >  -ma-  are  common,  c/.  Greek  Her-ac-les  >  Latin 
Her-ai-les.  From  the  names  Vecad  and  Y^ermupi,  it  is  clear  that  we  have  to 
do  with  members  of  a  Greek  family.  There  evidently  were  not  a  few 
Greeks  among  the  Etruscans,  even  in  the  earliest  times  (observe  the  V-,  not 
//-,  of  the  name  Vecad),  who  acquired  wealth  and  standing.  A  notable 
case  is  that  recorded  on  the  grande  sepolcro  (Gamurrino,  799)  of  Laris 
Pulena,  who  is  stated  to  be  'the  great-grand-son  of  Laris  Pule  the  Greek'  — 
prumts  Pules  Larisal  Creices.  Compare  also  the  story  of  Demaratus,  the 
reputed  Greek  progenitor  of  the  Tarquin  family. 

*In  Etruscan  we  fortunatelj^  are  not,  as  in  Latin,  dependent  upon  the  evidence 
furnished  by  metrical  texts  and  upon  the  conflicting  interpretations  that  modern 
scholars  have  put  upon  ancient  metrical  usage.  The  loss  of  -o~  after  a  short 
syllable  and  its  preservation  after  a  long  syllable  are  facts  that  can  not  be  argued 
away.  At  another  time  I  shall  show  that  the  Old-English  loss  of  a  final  short 
-u  after  a  long  syllable  and  its  retention  after  a  short  syllable,  instead  of  offering 
(as  argued  by  Sweet  and  Sonnenschein,  Classical  Philology,  January,  191 1,  page  3) 
evidence  against  the  doctrine  of  iambic  shortening,  offers  evidence  for  it. 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS  —  HEMPL  115 

<f>encaru  (.peri'Ka"ro)  'very  dear,'  Latin  perca'rus.  In  all  but  the 
very  oldest  Etruscan  (for  example,  apastvs  ed  palamneus  tupanktvs^  F. 
2341),  final  -s  disappeared,  as  in  Old  Latin,  after  a  short  vowel,  provided 
no  vowel  followed.  At  an  early  date,  the  j-less  forms  prevailed  in  Etruscan, 
the  j-forms  in  Latin.  Observe  puru,  sdvnimv,  Titv,  %sivieu,  icanius, 
fravvmv  below  ;  also  eluri  under  dri<ptent,  page  121.  Later  the  -o  became 
-3,  written  -e,  see  Titv,  page  117.  peri-  is,  of  course,  older  than  the  per-  of 
Latin  per-ca~riis. 

:n  is  an  abbreviation  for  natu  (.na~to)  'son,'  Latin  (g)na~tus.  (For 
n-  <^  Gn-,  see  stani  below.)  Compare  the  use  of/  in  Latin  inscriptions  as 
an  abbreviation  iox  fi~lius. 

stani  (.stan^ni")  'of  alloy,'  genitive  of  the  word  seen  in  Latin  stanniini 
'alloy.'  Italian  stagno  and  the  other  Romanic  forms  point  to  a  Latin  ^stag- 
nmn  'alloy.'  Compare  Latin  stagnoTre  'plate  with  alloy.'  As  medial  -Gn- 
becomes  -nn-  in  Etruscan  but  not  in  Latin,  it  is  evident  that  the  Romans 
adopted  the  Etruscan  form  with  its  -nn-.  This  suggests  Etruscan  influence 
on  Rome  in  the  matter  of  the  working  of  the  metals,  which  is  just  what  we 
have  reason  to  expect.  But  differentiation  from  stagmim  '  water  that  has 
flooded  land,'  'standing  water,'  'swamp,'  doubtless  contributed  towards 
fixing  the  Etruscan  form  in  Roman  speech.  Historically,  stagmati  '  a  piece 
of  shallow  standing  water,  a  fen '  is  one  and  the  same  word  as  stagnumj 
stanmivi  'a  metal  wash,  the  alloy  used  in  plating.'  English  wash  too  has 
both  meanings.  Initial  Gn-  became  (n)n-  in  both  Etruscan  and  Latin,  see 
n\atu\  above. 

purii  (.pu~ro),  Ij^Sm pimis  'pure,'  'free  of,'  compare  Horace's  sceleris 
puriis.     For  the  loss  of  -s  see  ^ericaru  above. 

hem  is  from  .hemo  <  .hemo",  Old  Latin  ^hemo~,  hemo~neni,  Latin 
homo  '  man.'     For  the  loss  of  -o~,  see  Vecad,  page  1 14. 

Note  on  Janus 

The  ^;^z  'Janus'  that  is  often  cited  (Korte,  Etrusker,  in  the  Pauly- 
Wissowa  Real-encyclopadie,  767),  as  a  sort  of  mate  to  Uni  'Juno,'  is  a 
ghost-word.  The  idea  is  based  upon  the  erroneous  supposition  that  the 
Bronze  Liver  has  Ani  One,  in  section  6.  Close  scrutiny  reveals  the  fact  that 
the  text  reads  Tins  One,  corresponding  to  the  Tins  dne-6  ^iifiQas  in  the 
inner  sections  18-20.  It  is  remarkable,  however,  how  near  Janus  was  all  the 
time.  For  QiiflQa,  or  QuplBa  (F.  1054,  CIE.  445)  is  .dup'Tta"  <  .dupil'ta" 
<  .du'pla~ti  <  .du'pla~tio  <  .du'pla"tio"  'doubleness.'  (For  the  shorten- 
ing and  loss  of  -o~  after  -i ,  see  VecaQ,  page  114.)  That  is,  we  have  before 
us  no  other  than  Janus  Bifrons,  who  so  often  appears  in  the  form  of  a  lamp- 
statuette,  called  alpan  (.al'pa'n  <  .lam'pa",  Greek  Xd/MTn]).    This  Etruscan 


116  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

word  for  *  lamp '  has  been  deified  and  been  used  to  add  formidableness  to 
the  list  of  Etruscan  divinities  whose  names  are  supposed  to  be  incapable  of 
reconciliation  with  Indo-European.  The  Tins  One  (e)d  %ufldas  on  the 
Bronze  Liver  is  Jovis  templum  et  Ja~7ii'  ' The  section  ( ' temple '  in  the 
technical  sense)  of  Jupiter  and  Janus.'  One  is  .tne~  <  .ta'me"  <  Greek 
to/it;  'section'  (compare  the  tern-  in  Latin  templum).  The  Etruscan  -e~  < 
Greek  -rj  betrays  non- Doric  Greek  influence  on  Etruscan  divination.  While 
on  some  of  the  lamp-statuettes  the  old  Italic  god  is  called  %uplOa  {%uplOas' 
alpan  'lamp-statuette  of  Thupltka,'  F.  1054,  CIE.  445),  on  others  he  is  given 
a  name  corresponding  to  l.zX\n  J  amis  Clusius.  Thus  on  F.  1051,  CIE.  437, 
we  find  Ciils'ans'i  alpan,  and  on  F.  1052,  CIE.  438,  S' elans' I  alpan.  GUI- 
s'an-s'i  (.KaPs'a'ns'i)  and  S' elans' I  (.s'3Ua~ns"l)  are  genitives  of  one  and  the 
same  name,  that  is  'Janus  CoUus,'  or  '  Turn-neck  Janus,'  compare  our  slang 
term  rubber  neck  'person  who  has  the  habit  of  looking  back  to  watch 
others,  while  he  tries  to  keep  on  walking  ahead.'  This  collus  is  from 
.icolsos,  .icelsos,  ^/Kel  'turn,  twist,'  of.  Latin  collum,  collus,  etc.  The 
Etruscan  Culs'-  is  for  icols-  ;  S'el-  is  from  .sKel  <  icels-.  The  initial  i-  or  y- 
before  the  long  a~  of  .ia~no-  regularly  assimilated  to  the  preceding  conso- 
nant (see  x,simeji  below),  whence  the  syllable  -a~n-  .  But  we  do  not  find 
Colsos  or  Collus  in  Latin  ;  for  through  popular  etymology  and  association 
with  clu~do,  cliCsus,  the  name  assumed  the  form  Clu~sius.  The  use  of  an 
effigy  of  Janus  to  hold  a  light  is,  of  course,  due  to  his  being  the  old  ItaUc 
god  of  light. 

FABRETTI    2344 

Maru :     sOvnimv-m    Titv:  x^imeu  letive        :  lapzi    smalvi    :  %anriOer 
(.marVo"  stu~nimo-m  tito      Ksimeo  le"ti~ve~  i^a~ptsi~  smalVi"      tanriter) 
'Maru  the  sturdy  and  Titv  the  distinguished,   dead  {or  who  died)  of  the 
lapygian  disease  at  Tarentum.' 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  only  punctuation  consists  of  double  puncts 
to  mark  proper  names.  Such  punctuation  stands  after  the  two  personal 
names  and  before  the  two  geographical  names. 

Maru  (.marVo")  is  to  Latin  Maro  as  Marro^nms  is  to  Maro'nms 
(Schulze,  Zur  Geschichte  lateinischer  Eigennajnen,  page  189).  Maro 
would  appear  in  Etruscan  as  ~-^Mar  (see  VecaO  above),  while  Marius 
would  be  ^Alariu,  later  Marie  (F.  654,  CIE.  2451),  still  later  ^Mari. 

sOvnimv  (.stu~nimo)  'very  sturdy'  or  'very  steadfast,'  a  superlative  in 
-imo-s,  cf.  Sanskrit  stJiu~rds  or  sthiClds  'thick,  large,  strong,'  and  Sanskrit 
sthu~na~,  Greek  crrOXo?  'post,  column,'  originally  'phallus.'  The  change  of 
medial  -1-  to  -n-  is  common  to  a  large  part  of  the  Etruscan  territory.  Still, 
the  Etruscan  adjective  may  have  the  -n-  of  Sanskrit  sthu'na'  rather  than 
the  -1-  of  Greek  o-ti)\o9.     For  the  loss  of -s,  see  <f>ericaru,  page  115. 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS — HEMl'L  117 

-m  'and,'  here  =  .m,  iis  on  the  Lemnos  Stone  and  often  elsewhere. 
In  F.  2345  below,  it  is  syllabic  (  =  .'m)  ;  but  we  also  find  -em  {les'c-em, 
Magliano)  and  -um  {a'xr-nm  F.  2598)  =  .am.  This  is  the  same  word 
as  Old-Latin  em,  im  'then,'  seen  also  in  Latin  (inter)im,  formed  like  inter- 
dum.  Compare  Umbrian  enom  '  then '  =  Palignian  inom  '  and '  ==  Latin 
enim  'for.'  Also  Umbrian  pun-um  'quando-que'  (Buck's  Oscan  and 
Umbrian  Grammar,  §201,  5).     For  the  relation  of  idea  between  'and'  and 

'then,'    compare  the  like  use  of  "then ,  then ,  then  ,"  and 

"and ,  and  ,  and  ,"    in  narration.     The   Etruscan    word   is 

almost  always  enclitic  ;  in  F.  2345  (page  122),  it  introduces  a  new  clause. 
When  so  used,  it  seems  to  have  retained  the  old  sense  'then.' 

Titv  (.tito)  <  .titos,  Latin  Titus.  This  .tito  later  became  .tita,  written 
Tite,  see  (f)ericaru,  page  115. 

^simeu  (.Ksimeo),  Latin  eximius  'distinguished.'  An  initial  short 
vowel  was  often  lost  in  forms  having  the  stress  on  a  succeeding  long 
vowel,  compare  e'ca',  later  ca~y  page  113.  Before  a  long  vowel,  i  was 
consonantal  (that  is,  .y)  and  assimilated  to  a  preceding  consonant,  doub- 
ling it  if  immediately  preceded  by  a  short  vowel.  Thus  .aksim^a's 
>■  .Ksim^ma~s.  (This  gemination  of  the  preceding  consonant  after  a 
short  vowel  is  proved  by  Latin  spellings  like  Spiirinna,  Porse?i7ia,  etc. ; 
see  also  raned,  page  123.)  Observe  the  masculine  family  names  Tav)(^na''s 
and  TardnoT  <  *  Tarcni^a~s  and  * Tarcni'a'  ( originally  respectively 
genitive  and  ablative  of  the  -ia  feminine  name  of  the  family,  which  was 
added  to  the  first  name  just  as  the  tribal  name  in  -ia  was  in  Latin), 
also  the  derived  feminine  Tarx'nai ;  and  compare  these  with  the  original 
feminine  nominative  ^Tarxnid.  As  e-  is  lost  in  ')(si7neu  too,  it  is  clear 
that  the  comparatively  few  forms  of  the  adjective  that  did  not  end  in  a 
long  vowel  adopted  the  shortened  form  of  those  that  did  ;  but  it  is  not  cer- 
tain whether  they  also  shifted  their  stress  to  the  final  syllable  or  simply  had 
it  on  the  first  syllable  of  the  shortened  form.  The  medial  i  or  e  certainly  did 
not  disappear  before  the  short  -o.  Moreover,  it  is  clear  that  the  initial  stress 
of  the  nominative,  accusative,  and  vocative  (the  most  commonly  used  cases 
of  a  name)  held  its  own  in  masculine  names  like  Tavarsio  (.taursio,  Greek 
Tau/3€(cr)to9,  Latin  Taurius)  on  the  Lemnos  Stone,  and  the  later  Askamie 
(.asKamia  <  .asKanios,  Greek 'Ao-zcai/to?,  Lsiin  Ascanius),  F.  2614  quat., 
and  the  still  younger  Fulni  (.folni  <  .folnia  <  .folnio(s)  <  .folwios,  Lat- 
inized as  Folnius,  but  in  real  Latin,  Fulvius)  F.  251  and  11.  p.  28  Tab., 
CIE.  428.  xsimeu  and  sdvnimv  may  be  common  adjectives  or  cognomens, 
I  am  not  sure  which. 

letive  (.le'ti'we"),  the  nominative  plural  masculine  of  .le"ti"wo,  Latin 
^le'ti'vus  'killed,'  'dead,'  is  to  le'tum  'death,'  as  furti'vus  'stolen' 
is  to  furtum  'theft,'  and  as  capti'vus  'captured'  is  to  captus  'capture,'  etc. 


118  MATZKE    MEMORIAL  VOLUME 

The  ending  -e~  (compare  Old-Latin  ploinime'  for  the  later  plu~rimi~)  is 
the  intermediate  stage  between  older  (-oi  >)  -ei  and  later  -i~.  Compare 
(F.  314,  Tab.  XXV,  CIE.  ^2)  fvimv — pace  (.fu"imo  paK^Ke",  for  kk  <  Kt, 
cf.  6ii')(tid,  page  122),  \j3X\n  fuimus  pacti~  ;  W\\h  fvhnv,  com^zr efravvmv^ 
page  122. 

/t^/^z"  (.i^a"ptsi"),  genitive  of  ^lapzu  (.iV~ptso)  'lapygian,'  'pertaining 
to  the  'Ia7ru7e9'  (the  natives  of  'Ia7ry7ta,  whence  Latin  lapygia,  the  terri- 
tory about  Tarentum,  and  thus  northwest  of  Greece),  of  which  'laTru^  'the 
northwest  wind'  is  really  the  singular.  For  the  origin  of  the  name,  see 
page  119. 

smalvi  (.smalVi"),  the  genitive  singular  of  ^smahu  <  .smalwom 
'evil,  disease,'  Latin  malutn  'evil,  misfortune,  injury.'  The  Etruscan  form 
finally  determines  the  etymology  of  the  Latin  word  and  establishes  its 
connection  with  English  small,  the  development  of  the  idea  'small'  into  that 
of  'bad'  being  common  the  world  over.  For  the  -v-  (.w)  seen  in  the 
Etruscan  form  and  in  French  mativais,  see  also  Venetic  mdiltia  'evils,' 
Pauli,  AIF.  iiL  No.  201.  With  the  use  of  malum  in  the  sense  of  'disease,' 
compare  the  like  use  of  evil  in  early  English,  still  more  or  less  familiar  in 
>^/«^' J  ^^'z7  '  scrofula. '  Also  tnalady  (from  Late-Latin  male  habitus),  and 
illness  (which  formerly  meant  'badness'  ),  and  He' s  very  bad  to-day  '  He's 
very  sick  to-day.'  My  colleague  Professor  Elmore  calls  my  attention  to  the 
following  from  Horace  (Sat.  I.  5,  62)  : — 

Campanum  in  morbum,  in  faciem  permulta  jocattis, 

as  to  which  Morris  says  :  ' '  Some  disease,  not  understood  even  by  the  scho- 
liasts." This  naming  of  a  disease  from  the  place  where  it  is  found  is  not 
uncommon.  We,  too,  speak  of  the  Roman  fever,  Texas  fever,  Gambian 
disease,  Syrian  plagne,  Aden  ague,  englische  Krankheit,  etc. 

Oanrider^  (.tanriter)  'at  Tarentum.'  Etruscan  @anri6er,  Latin  Ta- 
rento- ,  and  Greek  Tapavr-  (in  Tdpa<i^  -avro^)  are  all  corruptions  of  Greek 
.tarthen-,  which  is  a  doublet  of  .parthen-,  seen  in  7rap6evo<;  'maid.'  The 
Indo-European  form  was  .GheroheT  >  .cherche^n  ,  genitive  ch'r^ohenos. 
According  as  the  stress  permitted,  the  first  syllable  was  .cher-  or  .ch'r-  , 
and  this  variety  was  regularly  reflected  in  Greek  by  forms  with  rep-  and 
forms  with  Trap- .  Thus,  while  the  nominative  was  ^repO-qv,  there  were 
oblique  forms  like  the  genitive  Trapdevot.  A  competition  set  in,  whereby 
one  of  the  rival  forms  (.ter-  or  .par-)  won  the  day,  or  a  compromise  form 
(.tar-)  resulted.  In  Greek  we  find  the  old  genitive  irapdevo^  employed,  but 
regarded  as  the  nominative  of  an  <7-stem.  This  passed  into  North-Eastern 
Etruscan  ;  but  with  it  the  old  nominative  ^repdrjv  also  came  in,  becoming 

*The  identity  of  the  initial  letter  is  partly  concealed  by  an  accidental  mark, 
slighter  and  different  from  the  strokes  of  the  letters. 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS  —  HEMPL  119 

by  metathesis  tre'te~n.  Thus  at  the  beginning  of  the  very  old  Novilara 
inscription  we  find  : — 

Partemis  poh'^n  is'airon  tet 
'A  maid  presented  this  pedestal,' 

and  at  the  close,  in  more  elaborate  form  : — 

Treten  telet  auneni  polem  tis'ii  s'otris   eus 

*A  maid  presented  this  (same)  pedestal  in  accordance  with  the 

testament  of  her  benefactor.' 

tet  (.de"d)  is  from  tetet  (deMe~d),  while  telet  (.'deled)  is  from  .Meded,  see 
under  rane6,  page  123.  polem  <  .podem  =  Tro'Sa.  is'airon  <  .isto-  + 
.aiso-m,  cf.  Latin  iste  and  Oscan  elsii-d .  aiineni  =  Latin  eundem,  with  reg- 
ular change  of  medial  -nd-  to  -nn-  .     For  other  details  see  my  report. 

The  compromise  form  .tar-  is  found  in  Tdpa<i,  -avTo<i^  and  in  Latin 
Tarentunt  and  Etruscan  %anrider.  All  the  forms  show  metathesis  of 
one  kind  or  another.  The  Greek  and  the  Latin  forms  betray  the  influ- 
ence of  nt-  and  «/^-stems,  the  name  thus  falHng  in  with  such  names  as 
Uzentum,  Hydruntum,  Sipontum,  etc.  (Kretschmer,  EinleitU7tg,  page  260). 
The  Etruscan  form  retains  the  dental  stop  in  its  original  position  (.tarthen-, 
®attrider),  but  it  suffers  a  peculiar  metathesis  of  the  surrounding  sonorants  : 
thus  the  r  and  the  71  exchange  places,  but  under  the  influence  of  the  original 
form,  the  r  is  restored  next  to  the  n  that  had  taken  its  place.  The  form 
®anri9er  is  a  locative  without  suflix  (Brugmann,  11.  §256  and  257),  the 
word  being  a  consonant  stem  in  Etruscan,  as  originally  in  Greek. 

This  makes  it  clear  that  the  name  of  the  city  is  no  other  than  tre^te'n, 
or  7rap6evo<;  'the  maid,'  that  is,  ' AO^vtj  Hapdevo^.  This  Treten  stands  to 
the  locative  Oanrider  exactiy  as  '  KOrjvr)  does  to  the  locative  '  Ad-qvai.  The 
naming  of  Tarentum  for  Athene  probably  goes  back  to  the  early  Cretans 
that  are  reported  to  have  been  instrumental  in  building  the  city,  and  whose 
speech,  as  revealed  by  the  writing  on  the  seals  etc.  found  by  Evans  and  oth- 
ers, I  shall  soon  show  to  be  pure  Attic.  The  association  of  the  name  of  the 
town  with  the  Spartan  Parthenians  was  doubtless  secondary,  and  probably 
due  only  to  popular  etymology.  As  is  well  known,  the  various  ancient 
accounts  are  contradictory. 


Note  on  lapzi 

In  lapsi  we  have  an  important  name  that  has  been  much  discussed  but 
still  sadly  needs  elucidation.  We  may  best  begin  by  comparing  the  form 
'ld7rvy€<;  with  'laTroSe?,  the  name  of  an  allied  branch  Hving  in  Illyria. 
Kretschmer  {Einleitung,  p.  260)  says:     "  Der  Wechsel  der  Stammform  in 


120  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

'laTToSe?  :  'ldrrvy€<;  hat  eine  Parallele  an  Kkapih-  '  Schlussel '  :  dor.  kXcLik- 
(Theokrit)  und  opviSof;  :  opvixo^."  This  is  certainly  beside  the  mark.  I 
cannot  see  how  we  can  proportion  B  :  y  ::  B  :  k  ■'■  8  :  x.  Moreover,  -oBe- 
by  the  side  of -1^76-  appears  to  tell  a  very  plain  story.  In  'Ia7ru7e?/'Ia7roSe9 
we  have  a  Greek  compound  name,  meaning  'men  who  fight  with  vigor,' 
or  'fierce  fighters.'  The  first  element  is  the  stem  .isa~  'vigor,  virility,' 
compare  .eisa"  in  Latin  eira,  i~ra,  'impetuosity,  passion,  rage,  etc.,' 
.isa^ro-s  in  Greek  lep6<i  / lap6<s^  Sanskrit  isrd-s,  '  strong,  vigorous,  active,  etc. ' 
The  second  is  the  stem  .puG  seen  in  Greek  irvKrrj^  'boxer,'  Latin  ptigil 
'boxer,'  pugna  'fight.'  The  form 'laTruYe?  is  clear.  But  .puG  involves 
the  labial  .p  ,  the  labiovelar  .u  ,  and  the  velar  .g  .  Such  a  grouping  is  more 
or  less  unstable,  especially  in  the  unstressed  member  of  a  compound.  By 
the  shift  of  tense  labialization  from  the  .u  to  the  .g  ,  there  arose  the  stem 
.pOG  ,  with  labial  .p  and  labiovelar  .5  .  Before  €,  this  .poG  regularly  devel- 
oped into  7ro8 ,  hence  the  form  'laTroSe?.  The  form  'laTruSe?  is  clearly  a 
contamination  of  ^Ydiw^e;  and  '  laTroSef,  and  may  be  purely  literary. 

The  Umbrian  forms  lapusco,  labuscom,  etc.  in  Latin  script,  and 
lapuzkuni  in  Umbrian  script,  are  interesting.  The  ending  -{i)sko-  is  an 
adjective  ending  used  with  the  names  of  peoples,  cf  Latin  Opsci~,  Osci~, 
Falisci',  etc.  (Buck  §  256),  and  particularly  Germanic  names  like  Old- 
English  Wylisc  '  Welsh, '  Scyttisc  '  Scotch, '  Englisc  '  English, '  etc.  (Kluge, 
Stamnibildimgslehre,  §210);  for  which  we  usually  find  in  Latin  and  Greek 
the  related  -iko-  :  'IvSt/co'?,  GerniaTniais,  etc.  The  spelling  ti  in  the  Latin 
script  proves  that  the  Umbrian  word  had  .u  ,  not  .0  .  After  this  .u  ,  we 
expect  .G  ,  hence  the  early  form  for  the  Umbrian  word  was  ^Ia~pug(i)sko-  , 
which  by  contraction  would  become  ^^ Ia~ piiksko-  ,  but  the  lost  voice  of  .G 
was  usually  transferred  to  the  .p,  so  that  we  get  ^loTbuksko- .  The  */a~pu- 
d(i)sko-  that  is  usually  assumed  as  the  basis  of  the  Umbrian  forms  (Planta, 
I.  p.  70  etc.;  Kretschmer,  p.  259;  Buck,  §256)  is  impossible;  for  such  a 
form  would  have  given  us  in  Umbrian,  not  lapuzkuni^  but  an  lapur  skum, 
corresponding  to  etur'stamu,  as  Planta  realizes  (l  p.  407).  By  partial 
assimilation  of  K.  to  .s  ,  .Ia~puKsKo-  became  .Ia~putsKO-  (reflected  in  the 
Umbrian  spelling  lapuzkum),  and  later,  by  complete  assimilation,  .Ia~- 
pu(s)sKo-  (reflected  in  the  Latin  script  lapusco). 

It  is  impossible  to  tell  whether  the  Etruscan  lapzi  (.i^a"ptsi~)  arose  out 
of  .ia"podisKo-  or  out  of  .ia~puGisKo- .  That  the  z  still  spelled  .ts  (<.ds 
or  <  .Ks  <  .G-s)  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  for  z  is  the  usual  Etruscan  (as  also 
the  Venetic)  spelling  for  ,ts  or  .st  .  Of  the  many  illustrations  of  this  I 
need  cite  but  two  :  (i)  .ts  :  zal  (.tsa~l)  'three,'  see  p.  18;  (2)  .st  :  heczri 
(.(h)eK^stri~),  XjdXya  exteri~  'of  the  stranger,'  F.  1915,  CIE.  41 16.  Further 
details,  as  also  the  evidence  that  the  lapygians  were  Greeks,  will  be  found 
in  my  report. 


1 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS — liEMPL  121 


FABRETTI    2346    AND    2345 

2346  :    Icamus  in  dri(^tent-xci  •  pi 

2345  :    m-duxtid  .  nv/mnt .  aisarii  .  ustvn  .  fravvmv  pici  .  fust .  rane6 
.i~Ka~mos  ya~  tripMe~nt-K9  pi~ 

'm-duKtit  no~o~nt  aisaro"  us^to~n  fra~wamo  piki  bust  ran^ne~d. 
'  Now  let  us  strike  [the  lyre],  and  let  the  devout  ones  dance  the  sacred 
dance.     Then  lead  thou  forth,  O  Messenger  of  the  Gods,  the  burner  of  the 
dead  ;  we  have  brought  the  pitch,  he  will  sprinkle  the  place  of  burning.' 

The  punct  is  missing  in  several  places,  probably  simply  because  no 
longer  distinguishable. 

icamus  (.i"Ka"mos)  'let  us  strike  up,'  Latin  i~ca~mus,  voHtive  sub- 
junctive of  i~co  '  strike. ' 

ia  (.ya~)  <  ^iam,  hatin  jam  'now.'  Final  -m  disappeared  in  Etruscan 
long  before  final  -s  did,  and  a  preceding  short  stressed  mid  vowel  (.e  or  .0) 
early  became  silent,  see /21st  but  aisaru  and  pici,  page  122. 

0 r intent  (y.\x'Y^^e~wX)  'let  them  dance  the  tripodatio,'  Latin  tripodent, 
volitive  subjunctive  of  tripodo,  -a~re,  'to  dance  (as  a  religious  perform- 
ance).' In  Etruscan  a  really  medial  -d-  regularly  becomes  -1-  :  mlax  eluri 
zeri-c  (.mla~G  elori  tseVi^k)  =  fxaka'yixa  adoris  seri'que  'a  batter  of 
spelt  and  whey '  (Mummy  Ms.  5-22)  ;  see  also  -a~deK-  >-a~l9K-  ,  page  124. 
But  in  .tripo^de~nt,  the  -d-  began  the  stressed  syllable  and  was,  therefore, 
virtually  initial.  Etruscan  eluri  corresponds  to  the  Old-Latin  variant  edoris. 
Latin  edo'ris  would  be  .eMo"ri  in  Etruscan  and  would  have  been  written 
^eturi;  cf.  tetet  nnder  raned ,  page  123. 

-Xa  (.Ka),  Latin  -que  'and.'  The  Capuan  Tablet  still  has  xue  (.Sa), 
but  Etruscan  .ic  early  became  .K,*  hence  we  usually  find  -ce  (F.  2598),  -xe 
(F.  2327  ter  b  and  very  frequently  elsewhere),  or  -xa  (as  here),  all  =  .Ka, 
or  we  find  -c  (see  under  dri(f)tcnt  above),  with  the  obscure  vowel  lost.  But 
unstressed  -ga  at  times  became  -Kb,  thus  we  find  -c/e,  -x/^^and  -xla  '-que,' 
which  persisted  after  .  ic  had  become  .  k  in  other  words  :  Lautnes' -de  caresri 
Aules    'of   Lautne  and  dearest  Aule'    (F.   191 5,  CIE.  4116).     With  the 

*Where  .kw  is  found  in  later  texts,  it  is  foreign  {Cvinte  <  Latin  Quintus)  or  of 
secondary  development  {-xva  <  -trains)  in  the  Mummy  Ms.,  8-3  etc.:  celt  Auffis' 
zadrumis'  fler-Tova  Nedunsl  'walk  thirty-four  times  past  the  statue  of  Neptune'). 
celt  is  .Ke~le-  <  .Ke~de~,  'walk,  stride.'  From  Latin  ce-de  we  should  expect  eel, 
with  loss  of  the  short  -e,  certainly  in  so  late  a  text,  celi  (  <  .Ke-de~)  makes  more 
probable  Brugmann's  derivation  from  ce  -+-  \/sed  (see  Walde).  It  would  seem  actu- 
ally to  be  from  ce-sedeo  '  sit  here,'  'come  on  over  here  and  sit  with  me,'  'come  along, 
don't  stand  there,'  'come  on,'  'march,'  etc.  As  in  Umbrian  etc.,  the  .e-  in  Etruscan 
was  very  close  and  was  often  written  z,  especially  when  unstressed. 


122  MATZKE    MEMORIAL  VOLUME 

more  usual  Etruscan  -xa,  -x^,  etc.,  compare  Venetic  -ka  (No.  22),  -ke  (No. 
9),  -X^  (No.  291).  The  genitive  ending  -es  (in  northern  spelling,  -es), 
seen  in  Pules  and  Creices,  page  114,  and  in  Lautnes  and  Aides',  is  .e~s  < 
.eis,  Oscan  -m,  Umbrian  -^i- / -^r  (Buck.  §171),  which  arose  in  the  /-stems. 

/?' (.pi"),  \j2Ltvci  pii~  ox  pi",  'the  devout  ones,'  here  probably  the  hired 
mourners. 

m-  (.'m)  'then,'  see  -m,  page  117. 

6u')(tiB  (.duKtit,  Latin  ductita~,  imperative  of  ductito  'lead,  lead  along, 
lead  forth.'  In  Etruscan  this  verb  is  of  the  third  conjugation,  with  final 
short  -e  regularly  lost.  The  -Kt-  is  a  sign  of  great  age,  for  .  Kt  early  became 
.k(k)  in  Etruscan,  cf.  pace  under  letivey  page  117. 

nvhunt  (.no"o~nt)  'messenger.'  The  word  originally  meant  'new- 
comer,' being  due  to  the  conglomeration  of  ^neu(i)os  ^uentos,  nov(i)us 
ventus.  The  Etruscan  word  is  the  same  as  Latin  nWntius  'messenger'; 
but  the  peculiar  phonology  led  to  changes  that  were  not  identical  in  the  two 
languages.  In  considering  these,  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  Italic 
stress  rested  on  the  initial  syllable.  In  Latin  we  find  the  development : 
^neuios  uentos,  which  by  metathesis  of  -ios  and  -os  and  regular  change  of 
-sw-  to  -w-  (Sommers,  p.  231^)  became  *neuouentios  >  (Sommers,  p.  97) 
*neuentios  >  (Sommers  p.  74,  2)  noiientios  >  (Sommers,  §86)  *nountios  > 
(Sommers,  p.  175)  7iu~ntius.  Etruscan,  on  the  other  hand,  developed  as 
follows  (in  Latin  spelling)  *netws  uentos  >  *ne7iouentos  >  *nououentos 
>  *nouountos  >  no~o~ntos,  the  vocative  of  which  (with  regular  loss  of  final 
-e)  is  our  .no""o~nt,  speld  nvhunt. 

aisaru  (.aissro")  <^  .aisaro^m,  genitive  plural,  'of  the  gods.'  The 
'  messenger  of  the  gods '  was  Mercury,  who  also  conducted  the  souls  of  the 
dead  to  the  lower  world.  The  invocation  is,  therefore,  to  him.  aisar 
{aesar  Etrusca  lingua  '  deusl  Suetonius)  is  a  variant  of  aisos  (alaol 
^  OeoV  vTTo  Tvppi]vci)v,  Hesychius),  see  Buck,  page  12  etc.  Contrast  the 
retention  of  -u,  which  represents  -o~  <  -o~m,  with  the  complete  loss  of 
short  -om  in  fust  below. 

ustvn  (.usHo~n)  <  .us^to~r'm,  Latin  usto~rem,  accusative  of  ustor 
'cremator.' 

fravvmv  (.fra~w3mo),  Latin  ^fera~vimus  'tulimus.'  This  form,  by 
its  loss  of  -e-,  betrays  the  shift  of  stress  spoken  of  above ;  compare  also  6ne, 
p.  116.     "With  fravvmv,  compsire  fvimv  under  letive,  page  117. 

pid  (.piki)  <  .piKim,  Latin  picem,  accusative  of  pix,  Lithuanian /i^/'j 
'pitch.'     For  the  loss  of  -m,  see  ta  above. 

fust  (.bust)  <  .bustom,  Latin  busium  'place  of  cremation.'  I  reg- 
ularly represent  the  Etruscan  letter  8  by  the  conventional  transcription  f 
but  it  is  obvious  that  it  here  still  has  its  original  function  of  representing  the 
labial  stop  .b  .     Pauli  was  mistaken  in  deriving  the  Etruscan  8  from  the  old 


EARLY    ETRUSCAN    INSCRIPTIONS  —  HEMPL  123 

three-barred  h.  It  is  nothing  but  a  cursive  form  of  B  ,  and  got  the  value  .f 
as  old  .bh  became  the  labial  fricative.  In  the  inscription  Gamurrini  804,  the 
first  two  /'s  are  written  8  ,  the  following  three  have  the  form  B  .  For  the 
loss  of  -om,  see  ia,  page  15. 

ramQ  (.ranne~d  <  .ran'ye~d  <  .ranie^t)  is  the  third  singular  future 
of  Latin  "Cranio,  Greek  paivta  '  (be)sprinkle. '  The  change  of  -t  to  -d  is  the 
same  as  in  Oscan,  Umbrian,  and  Latin  ;  compare  Old-Latin  sied,  fhefhaked, 
etc.  But  this  -d  is  found  only  in  very  old  Etruscan,  for  it  early  became 
silent  {tenue,  F.  2033  bis,  E  a)  and  in  time  a  preceding  short  -e  disappeared 
{tenu,  F.  2070,  III.  329).  The  ending  of  Latin  temiit  is  a  reconstruc- 
tion on  the  basis  of  the  present,  which  has  -t  <  -ti,  cf.  Etruscan  s'udit 
(.s'u(d)dit),  Latin  stibdit,  F.  2335.  Corresponding  to  Latin  -it  «  -ed)  and 
-i~i  «  -eid),  Sommers,  page  618,  Etruscan  had  -ed  and  -e~d :  the  former 
in  temie(d)  (F.  2033,  bis,  E  «),  later  tenu  (F.  2070,  in.  329),  and  in  many 
other  verbs,  for  example,  (F.  2100)  :  eisne''v-c  eprdne~v-c  macstre~v-c, 
Latin  aestmna~vit-que  imperitaTvit-que  niagistroTvit-que ;  the  latter  in 
.anna'ke"  'gave'  (see  page  113),  and  in  tetet  (  de'de~d,  cf.  dri^tent,  page 
121),  with  which  contrast  telet  (.deled),  page  1 19.  The  form  tetet  is  found  in 
F.  2753,  an  inscription  that  is  usually  classed  as  "mixed  Oscan  and  Etrus- 
can," but  which  is  in  reality  pure  Etruscan  from  beginning  to  end.*  The 
only  consideration  that  has  led  scholars  to  suppose  that  this  inscription  is 
not  pure  Etruscan  is  the  fact  that  several  words  in  it  are  obviously  Indo- 
European,  which  was  not  compatible  with  the  current  doctrine  that  Etruscan 
is  not  Indo-European. 

It  will  be  observed  that  that  part  of  our  inscription  that  is  numbered 
2346  forms  a  sense-unit.  What  is  numbered  2345  falls  into  two  sense-units. 
If  we  write  the  text  in  this  way,  we  get  three  metrical  lines  : — 

^i~Ka~mos  ^a"  tripMe~nt-K9  ^pi~. 

^'m-duKtit,  ^no~o~nt  ^aisar(o~)  us^to~n  ; 

Tra~wamo  ^piki,  ^bust  ran^ne~d. 
'  Let  us  strike  up  now,  and  let  the  devout  ones  dance  the  sacred  dance. 
Then  lead  forth,  O  Messenger  of  the  Gods,  the  burner  of  the  dead  ; 
We  have  brought  the  pitch,  he  will  sprinkle  the  place  of  burning.' 

Each  verse  is  a  trochaic  dimeter  catalectic,  with  the  substitution  of  a 
dactyl  for  the  trochee  in  the  first  foot  of  the  first  dipody,  less  often  of  the 
second  dipody.  The  meter  is,  of  course,  dynamic,  that  is,  based  on  stress, 
not  time. 


*Fabretti  made  a  strange  blunder  in  reading  the  perfectly  distinct  per  aciam 
as  aeraciam,  and  others  carelessly  followed  him. 


124  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 


Note  on  the  Numerals 

As  there  has  been  occasion  to  refer  to  the  numerals,  I  may  say  that  the 
correct  order  is  that  of  Campanari  : — 

max     ^^'     ^^^    ^"^^     ^^    ^^    sem(f)     cezp-     muv-     mealxls 
12345678  9  10 

Every  form  is  a  regular  derivative  from  primitive  Indo-European.  The 
puzzling  zal  (^.Ks2r\)  is  from  older  "^zar  (.tsa~r),  which  arose  by  metathesis 
(cf  English  three  but  third')  from  .tsra"  <  .tis(3)Va~,  Avestan  tis'aro~, 
Sanskrit  tisrds,  Old-Irish  teoir,  etc. ,  '  three. '  The  Etruscan  numerals  were 
often  feminine  abstracts  like  Greek  otvr}  '  the  number  one '  and  German  die 
Eins.  The  older  ^zar  (.tsa~r)  is  reflected  in  zadrm  (.tsa~tr'm)  <  ^zarOm 
(.tsa~rt'm)  '  thirty'  <  (.tis(9)Va"  '  three,'  +  .deK'm  '  ten  ').  As  in  this  word 
the  .-ra~  became  .-a~r  by  metathesis,  the  .d  of  .dex'm  came  to  stand  next  to 
the  .r,  and  thus  .tsa"rdeK'm  became  .tsa~rdK'm  >  .tsa~rt'm  >  .tsa~tr'm, 
spelled  zadrm,  zaBrum,  etc.  In  other  numerals,  the  final  -a~  remained 
in  position,  and  thus  .-a"deK-  became  .-a'laK  (seepage  121)  >  .-(a)lK-  , 
spelled  -(a)lx-,  etc.  :  celc,  cialx-iis,  cealx-ls,  etc.,  all  forms  of  the  word  for 
'  fifty' ;  5'ialx-v(e)is  '  sixty '  (the  analogy  of  the  preceding  ci-  of  the  word 
for  'fifty'  caused  the  substitution  of  j'z-  for  s'a-  'six,'  which  is  from  ^zecsa 
(.tscK^sa"),  compare,  with  initial  stress,  zecsans'l  (.tscKsans'l)  'of  a  six-year- 
old,'  Latin  sexennis)  ;  etc.  The  tens  usually  appear  in  the  adjective  form, 
with  the  Indo-European  adjective  suffix  -we~s,  -tvents,  seen  in  Avestan 
vi~ saiti-vant-  '  twenty-fold '  and  in  Greek  Terpd'?,  -avro';,  etc.  (Brugmann,  n. 
§182,  2,  II*.  §356).  This  -we~s  appears  as  -veis  and  -vis  (^z  and  i  =  close 
e~)  on  the  Lemnos  Stone  {s'ialx-veis,  -vis)  ;  as  -us  (.os  <  .wes  <  .we~s, 
cf.  Latin  soror  <  .sweso~r)  in  the  Mummy  Ms.  {cealx-us  etc.)  ;  and  as  -Is 
(a  dull  syllabic  1  +  s)  in  ItaHan  Etruscan  {cealx-ls  etc.).  In  Southern 
Etruria  the  final  -s  of  this  adjective  suffix  passed  by  analogy  to  the  numbers 
below  mealx^s  '  ten '  when  these  were  used  as  adjectives  :  thus  maxs,  hu6s, 
etc. ,  by  the  side  of  the  max,  h,uO^  etc. ,  found  on  the  dice.  This  -s  has  been 
mistaken  by  some  scholars  for  an  inflectional  ending,  and  has  been  used  as 
shot  to  fire  at  the  "  Indo-Germanites  "  (Skutsch,  Pauly-Wissowa,  805-47). 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  LEGEND  OF  FLOIRE  AND  BLANCHEFLOR^ 
Oliver  Martin  Johnston 

FELIX,  king  of  Spain,  while  invading  a  Christian  land,  attacks 
some  pilgrims  going  to  Saint  James  of  Compostella.  Among 
the  pilgrims  are  a  knight  and  his  daughter  who,  after  the  death 
of  her  husband,  had  consecrated  herself  to  the  apostle  Saint  James. 
In  the  battle  that  follows  the  knight  perishes  and  the  daughter  is  taken 
captive  to  Naples,  where  she  becomes  the  confidant  and  friend  of  the 
queen.  Some  months  later  a  son  is  born  to  the  queen  and  a  daughter 
to  the  Christian  captive.  The  children  are  born  le  jor  de  la  Pasquc-florie 
and  in  honor  of  this  festival  they  are  called  Floire  and  Blancheflor.  They 
grow  up  together  and  love  each  other  tenderly.  However,  the  king 
seeing  that  his  son  loves  the  Christian  slave  resolves  to  have  her  slain  as 
soon  as  possible.  The  queen  opposes  this  plan  and  they  finally  decide 
to  send  Floire  to  M^ntoire,  promising  him  that  Blancheflor  will  join  him 
soon.  Floire  goes  away  sad  and  at  the  end  of  a  week  begins  to  grieve 
and  refuses  to  eat.  As  soon  as  the  king  learns  the  result  of  the  separation 
of  the  two  lovers  he  proposes  again  to  have  the  young  girl  slain.  How- 
ever, the  queen  still  refuses  to  give  her  consent  and  suggests  that  it 
would  be  better  to  sell  her  to  some  merchants  going  to  Babylon  and  then 
build  a  tomb  in  order  to  make  Floire  believe  she  was  dead.  When  Floire 
sees  the  tomb^  he  is  so  filled  with  sorrow  and  despair  that  he  decides  to 
kill  himself  with  a  grafe  d'argenf  which  Blancheflor  had  given  him.  His 
mother  prevents  him  from  doing  so,  however,  and  informs  the  king  of 
this  new  danger.  Floire  then  learns  that  Blancheflor  has  been  sold  as  a 
slave  and  sets  out  in  search  of  her.  By  chance,  he  always  stops  at  the 
hotels  where  Blancheflor  had  been  and  the  innkeepers  noticing  the 
resemblance  between  him  and  Blancheflor  give  him  the  necessary  informa- 
tion. He  finally  reaches  Babylon,  where  the  pontonnier  Daires  suggests 
the  means  by  which  he  is  able  to  enter  the  sultan's  castle.  After  gaining 
the  good-will  of  the  guardian  by  playing  chess  with  him  Floire  makes 
known  to  him  the  aim  of  his  journey.  Then  with  the  aid  of  the  gate- 
keeper he  is  concealed  in  a  basket  of  flowers  and  carried  into  the  castle 

1  The  following  is  an  abstract  of  the  first  of  the  two  Old  French  poems  on 
Floire  and  Blancheflor  published  by  Du  Meril  and  will  be  referred  to  in  this  study 
as  French  I. 


126  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

where  he  finds  Blancheflor.  When  the  sultan  discovers  him,  both  he  and 
Blanchelior  are  condemned  to  death.  However,  they  are  later  pardoned 
and,  after  their  marriage,  return  to  Spain. 

I.     Theories  Regarding  the  Origin  of  the  Legend. 

1.  The  theory  that  our  legend  originated  in  southern  France-  seems 
to  have  nothing  to  support  it  except  the  fact  that  there  are  seventeen* 
references  to  Floire  and  Blancheflor  in  Provengal  literature. 

2.  Sommer*  saw  in  our  legend  a  Germanic  myth.  The  love  of 
Floire  and  Blancheflor  who  are  still  children  reminded  him  of  the  stories 
of  the  elves  who  always  remain  children  (small  beings). 

3.  Paulin  Paris^  and  Wehrle"  suggested  that  the  legend  of  Floire 
and  Blancheflor  was  of  Spanish  origin.  Against  this  theory  Gaston 
Paris  offered  the  following  objections.'  In  the  first  place,  he  says  that 
when  we  consider  the  condition  of  Spanish  poetry  about  the  middle 
of  the  twelfth  century,  the  date  of  the  first  references  to  Floire  and 
Blancheflor  in  French  and  Provengal,  we  cannot  believe  that  our  legend 
passed  from  Spanish  to  the  other  literatures  of  Europe.  The  fact  that  a 
part  of  the  story  is  represented  as  taking  place  in  Spain  does  not  mean 
anything.  A  pilgrimage  to  Saint  James  and  the  invasion  of  a  Saracen 
king  are  motifs  that  are  found  elsewhere.  Furthermore,  the  name 
Flores  in  the  Spanish  version  must  come  from  a  French  nominative. 

4.  In  1856  Du  Meril  published  both  of  the  Old  French  versions  of 
the  legend  of  Floire  and  Blancheflor  and  in  an  introduction  of  258  pages 
discussed  at  length  the  origin  of  the  story.  He  called  attention  to  the 
large  number  of  Greek  elements  in  the  Old  French  versions  and  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  legend  is  of  Byzantian  origin.  Although  he 
was  unable  to  find  any  Greek  story  from  which  our  poem  could  have  been 
derived,  his  theory  was  accepted  by  scholars  for  almost  fifty  years  after 
the  appearance  of  his  edition. 

5.  Professor  Italo  Pizzi,^  in  an  article  published  in  1892,  expressed 
♦:he  opinion  that  Persia  is  the  home  of  our  legend.     His  theory  is  based 

^  See  Crescini,  //  Cantare  di  Fiorio  c  Biancifiorc,  I,  p.  3  ff ;  Joachim  Reinhold, 
Floire  ei  Blancheflor,  Paris,  1906,  p.  120. 

3  See  Reinhold,  op.  cit.,  p.  9 ;  Fauriel,  Histoire  de  la  Poesic  Proven^ale,  Paris, 
1846,  pp.  459-60. 

*  See  Reinhold,  op.  cit.,  pp.  120-1. 

8  See  Blume  und  Weisshlume,  Freiburg,  1856,  p.  xlii  ff. 

'  See  Romancero  frangais,  Paris,  1833,  p.  55. 

^  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  445-6. 

"  See  Memorie  delta  rcale  acadcmia  delle  .<!cience  di  Torino.  Serie  seconda, 
vol.  XLII,  pp.  265-6. 


LEGEND    OF    FLOIRE    AND    BLANCHEFLOR  —  JOHNSTON  127 

on  the  following  points  of  resemblance  between  the  legend  of  Floire 
and  Blancheflor  and.  the  Persian  stories  compared:  (i)  The  story  of 
two  children  brought  up  together,  loving  each  other  passionately,  and 
finally  separated  because  of  the  resistance  of  the  father,  in  Assar's  Mihr 
and  Monchter  and  in  Dj ami's  Selanan  and  Absadl;  (2)  the  fictitious 
funeral  of  a  young  girl  in  Hotimdy  and  Houmdyoun;  (3)  in  a  poem  of 
Firdusi  the  daughter  of  the  Persian  king  allows  her  lover  to  be  brought 
to  her  asleep  and  concealed  in  a  chest  (or  on  a  litter). 

With  reference  to  the  first  of  the  three  points  of  resemblance 
mentioned  by  Pizzi  it  may  be  said  that  the  love  of  two  children  brought 
up  together,  their  separation,  and  the  journey  of  one  in  search  of  the 
other  are  motifs  that  are  well  known  in  Greek  and  Arabic  literature. 
These  motifs  would,  therefore,  hardly  be  sufficient  to  prove  that  our 
legend  is  of  Persian  origin. 

Regarding  the  fictitious  funeral  of  the  young  girl  Reinhold  says:® 
"Pourtant  dans  le  roman  perse  ce  ne  sont  pas  les  parents  qui  veulent 
tromper  leur  fils  pour  I'empecher  d'aimer  la  jeune  fiUe,  mais  le  pere  de 
sa  bien-aimee,  empereur  de  Chine,  *'celebre"  les  funerailles  de  sa  fille. 
II  n'y  a  pas  question  d'um  tombeau  eleve  pour  tromper  le  jeune  homme." 
The  fictitious  tomb  is  also  found  in  Apollonius  of  Tyre.^° 

The  third  analogy  suggested  by  Pizzi  is  also  weakened  by  the  fact 
that  this  motif^^  is  found  elsewhere.  With  reference  to  the  basket  of 
flowers  in  which  Floire  is  concealed  Reinhold  says^=:'Tl  existe  un  conte 
arabe  oti  I'amant  se  fait  cacher  dans  une  caisse  remplie  de  marchandiseS 
pour  arriver  au  meme  but.  Je  crois  que  la  ressemblance  entre  ces  deus 
motifs  n'est  pas  plus  grande  que  celle  qui  existe  entre  cette  corbeille  et 
les  tonneaus  dans  lesquels  se  cachent  les  compagnons  de  Guillaume.'^  Ce 
qui  est  surtout  tres  probable,  c'est  que  le  prototype  de  tous  ces  trois 
motifs  se  trouve  etre  le  cheval  de  Troie.  On  sait  qu'a  cette  epoque  les 
usages,  les  rapports,  les  expressions  de  la  vie  feodale  sont  appliquees 
aus  relations  entre  le  chevalier  dont  il  se  reconnait  fidele  vassal;  rien 
d'etonnant  alors  que  les  ruses  de  guerre  elles  aussi,  deviennent  chez 
les  romanciers  des  ruses  d'amour,  grace  ausquelles  le  heros  penetre  sinon 
dans  la  ville  ennemie,  au  moins  dans  la  chambre  de  son  amie.  L'  £neide 
ou  nous  trouvons  le  cheval  de  bois,  fut  traduite  vers  1160,  Fl.  et  Bl.  est 
compose  vers  le  meme  temps  puisqu'il  est  celebre  en  Allemagne  deja  vers 


»  See  op.  cit.,  p.  126,  note  3. 

10  See  Revue  de  philologie  francaise,  XIX,  pp.  158-9- 

11  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  355. 

12  See  Revue  de  philologie  frangaise.  XIX,  pp.  169-170. 

13  See  Charroi  de  Nlmes,  p.  98,  v.  940  ff. 


128  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

1 173.  Que  le  poete  ait  puise  ce  motif  dans  1'  Eneas  ou  dans  le  Charroi 
de  Mimes  peu  importe,  toujours  est-il  que  notre  auteur  Tembellit  et  que 
sous  I'influence,  peut-etre  des  noms  de  Floire  et  Blanchefleur  dont  les 
racines  evoquent  des  fleurs — il  le  rent  si  poetique." 

6.  In  1897  Ten  Brink"  compared  the  legend  of  Floire  and  Blan« 
cheflor  with  three  Arabic  stories  and  two  years  later  Huet  set  forth 
more  fully  the  Arabic  theory  in  an  article  published  in  the  Romania}^ 
The  Arabic  origin  of  our  legend  was  accepted  by  Gaston  Paris,^"  Suchier 
and  Basset.  As  it  is  my  purpose  to  discuss  this  theory  at  length  later  on 
it  will  not  be  necessary  to  examine  the  Arabic  stories  in  detail  here. 

7.  The  latest  attempt  to  trace  the  sources  of  our  poem  was  by 
Joachim  Reinhold.  In  his  thesis  on  Floire  et  BlancJieflor,  published  at 
Paris  in  1906,  he  tried  to  prove  that  the  legend  of  Floire  and  Blancheflor 
is  based  on  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  by  Apuleius^'  and  that  the  idea 
of  the  harem  was  suggested  to  our  poet  by  the  book  of  Esther. 

Concerning  this  theory  Huet  says  :^*  "Je  crois  qu'il  faut  faire  les 
plus  expresses  reserves  sur  les  rapprochements  avec  la  Psyche  d'Apulee ; 
il  est  fort  peu  probable  qu'on  ait  connu,  en  France,  au  XI P  siecle  le 
roman  de  metamorphoses  dont  Psyche  fait  partie."  In  his  review  of 
Reinhold's  thesis  Lucien  Lecureux  also  says  :^^  "M.  Huet  a  raison  de 
douter  que  le  roman  d'A^pulee  ait  ete  connu  en  France  au  XIP  siecle. 
D'ailleurs,  la  ressemblance  entre  les  deux  textes  consisterait  simplement 
en  ceci  que,  dans  I'un  et  I'autre  cas,  I'amante  (Blancheflor,  Psyche),  de 
condition  inferieure  a  celle  de  I'amant  ( le  prince  Floire,  le  dieu  Cupidon), 
est  persecutee  par  les  parents  de  I'amant  (le  roi  Felis  et  sa  femme,  la 
deesse  Venus)  qui  veulent  empecher  une  union  disproportionnee.  On 
poitrrait  souhaiter  ume  ressemblance  plus  evidente." 

Another  argument  against  Reinhold's  theory  is  the  fact  that  the 
French  folk  traditions  that  are  related  to  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche 
show  none  of  the  motifs  of  Floire  et  Bhincheflor.  In  any  imitation  of 
Cupid  and  Psyche  we  should  expect  to  find  motifs  like  ( i )  the  story  of 
the  young  girl  in  the  palace  of  the  mysterious  being  to  whom  she  has 
been  delivered,  (2)  the  prohibition  with  reference  to  the  secret  of  her  new 
life,  (3)  her  disobedience,  and  (4)  the  sudden  disappearance  of  her  lover. 
The  fact  that  traces  of  the  motifs  just  mentioned  are  found  in  three 


' '  See  Reinhold,  Floire  et  Blancheflor,  p.  127. 
i^Vol.    XXVIII,   348-359- 

'^  See  Reinhold,  Floire  et  Blancheflor,  p.   128. 
IT  See  Metam.     IV,  28.     VI,  24. 

18  See  Romania,  XXXV,  p.  99.  note  3. 

19  See  Romania,  XXXVII,  313. 


LEGEND  OF  FLOIRE  AND   BLANCHEFLOR  —  JOHNSTON  129 

groups  of  Stories  (altered  versions  of  Cupid  and  Psyche)  collected  in 
Lorraine  -°  and  not  found  in  Floirc  et  Blancheflor  naturally  leads  one  to 
believe  that  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  was  not  the  source  of  our 
poem  as  Reinhold  supposes. 

A  reworking  of  this  subject  has  led  me  to  the  conclusion  that  in  the 
composition  of  the  Old  French  poem  on  Floire  and  Blancheflor  two 
legends  have  been  combined.  The  first  part  of  the  poem  was  probably 
based  on  the  story  used  by  the  author  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette.  The 
relation  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette  to  Floire  et  Blancheflor  has  been  the 
subject  of  considerable  discussion.  According  to  Brunner,^^  Paris,-^  and 
Suchier,-^  the  legend  of  Floire  and  Blancheflor  was  the  source  of 
Aucassin  et  Nicolette.  On  the  other  hand,  Crescini^*  and  Reinhold-'^ 
think  the  two  stories  are  independent. 

The  story  of  Aucassin  and  Nicolette  is  in  brief  as  follows.  Aucassin 
is  the  son  of  Count  Garin  of  Beaucaire  and  Nicolette  is  a  slave  girl 
brought  from  a  foreign  land.  The  two  children  grow  up  together  and 
love  each  other  passionately.  The  father  of  Aucassin  is  opposed  to  the 
marriage,  however,  on  the  ground  that  Nicolette  is  not  of  noble  birth: 
"De  ce  (Nicolette)  n'as  que  faire,  et  se  tu  femme  vix  avoir,  je  te  donrai 
le  file  a  un  roi  u  a  un  conte"  (2.  32).  "Puisqu'a  moullier  te  vix  traire, 
pren  feme  de  haut  parage!"  (3,  11).  The  opposition  of  the  father  leads 
to  the  imprisonment  of  the  two  lovers: 

"Nicole  est  en  prison  mise, 
en  une  canbre  vautie  (5,  i). 
Quant  or  voit  li  quens  Garins 
de  son  enfant  Aucassin 
qu'il  ne  porra  departir 
de  Nicolete  au  cler  vis, 
en  une  prison  I'a  mis, 
en  un  celier  sosterin"  (11,  i). 


20  See  E.  Cosquin,  Romania,  X,  117-126. 

21  Vber  Aucassin  und  Nicolete,  Halle  A.  S.  1880,  pp.  6-18. 
^^  Romania,  VIII,  291. 

^^  Aucassin  und  Nicolete.  Dritte  Auflage.  Parderborn,  1889,  p.  VII.  In 
this  connection  compare  Reinhold,  op.  cit.,  p.  50:  "il  (Herzog)  adopte  I'opinion  de 
Kolbing  et  celle  de  Brunner  que  la  Reinalds — rimur  et  Aucassin  et  Nicolete 
remontent  chacun  de  son  cote,  a  des  versions  perdues  de  notre  legende." 

24  Giornale  storico  della  letteratura  italiana,  1884,  p.  257,  note  2. 

25  See  op.  cit.,  p.  94.  With  reference  to  the  relation  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette 
to  Floire  et  Blancheflor  Du  Meril  {op.  cit.,  p.  CXCIV)  says :  "Ce  n'est  pas  cependant, 
ainsi  qu'on  pourrait  le  croire  d'apres  ces  ressemblances,  ume  seconde  version  du 
meme  sujet,  mais  une  histoire  reellement  diflferente." 


130  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

As  soon  as  they  are  out  of  prison  Aucassin  goes  in  search  of  his  love, 
whom  he  finds  in  a  bower  that  she  had  made  and  which  she  had  Hned 
within  and  without  with  flowers  and  leaves.  After  this  adventure  they 
remain  together  until  the  castle  of  Torlore  (where  they  had  taken  refuge) 
was  captured  by  the  Saracens,  whereupon  he  was  cast  into  one  ship  and 
she  into  another.  The  ships  being  separated  by  a  storm,  Aucassin  finally 
reaches  Beaucaire  and  Nicolette  returns  to  Carthage  where  she  had  been 
stolen  when  a  child.  Disguised  as  a  harper  she  then  goes  to  seek 
Aucassin.  "Et  Nicolete  issi  fors  si  prist  se  viele  si  ala  vielant  par  le  pais, 
tant  qu'ele  vint  au  castel  de  Biaucaire  la  u  Aucassins  estoit"  (38,  22). 
This  charming  story  of  love  ends  with  the  marriage  of  the  lovers. 

"Or  a  sa  joie  Aucasins 
Et  Nicholete  autresi." 

The  resemblances  between  Floire  et  Blancheflor  and  Aucassin  et 
Nicolette  may  be  stated  as  follows : 

1.  Two  children  grow  up  together. 

2.  They  love  each  other  passionately. 

3.  Floire  and  Aucassin  are  of  noble  birth,  while  Blancheflor  and 
Nicolette  are  slaves. 

4.  This  difference  in  social  rank  causes  the  father  of  Floire  and 
Aucassin  to  oppose  the  marriage. 

5.  The  opposition  of  the  father  leads  to  the  separation  of  the  two 
lovers. 

The  author  of  Floire  et  Blancheflor  and  the  author  of  Aucassin  et 
Nicolette  probably  worked  from  a  common  source  up  to  this  point. 
In  Floire  et  Blancheflor,  however,  the  original  story  has  been  expanded 
and  new  traditions  have  been  added.  For  instance,  in  Aucassin  et 
Nicolette,  which  seems  to  represent  an  older  and  simpler  form  of  the 
legend,  the  two  children  are  born  at  different  places  and  live  in  different 
houses,  even  after  Nicolette  was  taken  to  Beaucaire,  the  home  of  Aucassin. 
On  the  other  hand,  Floire  and  Blancheflor  are  not  only  born  at  the  same 
time  and  place  and  live  in  the  same  home,  but  they  also  resemble  each 
other : 

"Car  en  un  biau  jor  furent  ne 

Et  en  une  nuit  engendre  (I,  21-2). 

El  vous  resamble  en  moie  foi : 

Bien  poez  estre  d'un  eage; 

Si  vous  ressamble  du  visage"  (I,  1084-6). 

This  resemblance  motif  is  doubtless  a  folk  tradition  growing  out  of  the 


LEGEND  OF   FLOIRE   AND   BLANCHEFLOR  —  JOHNSTON  131 

resemblance  between  the  names  of  the  hero  and  the  heroine.  Their 
names  being  similar  it  was  easy  for  the  popular  mind  to  imagine  a 
corresponding  resemblance  in  age,  personal  appearance,  and  in  other 
matters  pertaining  to  their  lives.  With  reference  to  a  similar  idea  in 
Amis  et  Ajiiiles  Lucien  Lecureux  says:-*'  "II  existe  certainement  une 
ressemblance  entre  Floire  et  Blanchefleur  d'  une  part  et  Amis  et  Amiles 
d'autre  part.  Les  deux  amants  comme  les  deux  amis  sont  nes  'en  un 
jor'  et  'en  une  nuit  engendres.'  lis  ont  presque  le  meme  nom,  ils  se 
ressemblent,  et,  quand  Floire  cherche  Blanchefleur  a  travers  le  monde, 
comme  Amis  cherchait  Amiles,  c'est  cette  ressemblance  qui  permet  aux 
divers  hoteliers  chez  qui  il  descend,  de  lui  indiquer  la  personne  qu'il 
cherche,  comme  une  ressemblance  analogue  permettait  a  un  pelerin, 
puis  a  un  berger  de  renseigner  successivement  Amis  et  Amiles." 

The  description  of  the  social  condition  of  Nicolette  is  also  very  brief. 
The  author  merely  states  that  she  was  stolen  when  a  child  from  her 
home  in  Carthage  and  sold  as  a  slave  to  the  Viscount  of  Beaucaire.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  author  of  Floire  et  Blancheflor  gives  an  elaborate 
description  of  a  pilgrimage  during  which  the  mother  of  Blancheflor  is 
captured  by  the  Saracens  and  taken  to  Naples: 

"Es-vos   le   roi   en   la   cite; 
Son  barnage  a  tres-tout  mande : 
Son  eschec  lor  depart  li   rois, 
Bien  largement,  comme  cortois, 
Et  por  sa  part,  a  la  reine 
Done  de  gaaing  la  meschine"   (I,   127-132). 

With  reference  to  the  pilgrimage  and  the  invasion  here  described 
Gaston  Paris  says:-^  "Un  pelerinage  a  Saint-Jacques  etait  un  cadre 
naturel  pour  une  aventure  du  genre  de  celle,  qui  arrive  a  la  mere  de 
Blanchefleur  et  I'invasion  d'un  roi  sarrasin  d'Espagne  en  Galice  etait  aussi 
un  motif  connu."^^ 

In  the  account  of  the  father's  resistance  and  the  separation  of  the 
two  lovers  the  author  of  Floire  et  Blancheflor,  while  following  in  the 
main  the  original  story,  describes  the  scene  more  in  detail  and  also 
introduces  another  tradition. 


26  See  Romania.  XXXVII,  aU- 

2^  "Nous  retrouvons  ce  motif  par  exemple  dans  le  beau  Dit  des  annelets 
(Jubinal,  Nouv.  Rec,  t.  I,  p.  i),  et  avec  moins  d'importance,  dans  divers  romans 
d'aventure"     (Paris,  Romania,  XXVIII,  446)- 

28  "C'est  le  sujet  d'un  des  derniers  chapitres  du  faux  Turpin,  souvent  traduit 
en  frangais  "     (Paris,  Romania,  XXVIII,  446). 


132 


MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 


Floire  et  Blanche f lor 

1.  The  father  sends  Floire  to 
Montoire  with  the  promise  that 
Blancheflor  will  soon  follow.  The 
promise  is  broken. 

2.  The  father  of  Floire  threatens 
to  slay  Blancheflor:  "Faites  la  moi 
tost  demander,  Ja  li  ferai  le  chief 
couper"   (I,  398-9). 

3.  Blancheflor  is  sold  to  some 
merchants  who  take  her  to  Baby- 
lon. 


Aucassin  et  Nicole fte 

1.  The  father  tells  Aucassin  that 
if  he  will  take  arms  and  defend  the 
castle  of  Beancaire,  he  will  permit 
him  to  see  Nicolette.  The  promise 
is  broken. 

2.  The  father  of  Aucassin  threat- 
ens to  burn  Nicolette:  "Et  sacies 
bien  que,  se  je  le  puis  avoir,  que  je 
I'arderai  en  un  fu"  (4,  8). 

3.  When  the  Viscount  finds  that 
Aucassin's  father  is  opposed  to  the 
marriage  he  proposes  to  send 
Nicolette  to  a  foreign  land:  "Je 
I'envoierai  en  tel  tere  et  en  tel  pais, 
que  ja  mais  ne  le  verra  de  ses  ex" 

(4,  15)- 

4.  Aucassin  and  Nicolette  are 
imprisoned. 

5.  "Et  puis  que  vos  ariies  jut 
en  lit  a  home  s'el  mien  non,  or 
ne  quidies  mie  que  j'atendisse  tant 
que  je  trovasse  coutel  dont  je  me 
peiisge  ferir  el  cuer  et  ocirre.  Naie 
voir,  tant  n'atenderoie  je  mie,  ains 
m'esquelderoie  de  si  lone,  que  je 
verroie  une  maisiere  u  une  bisse 
pierre,  s'i  hurteroie  si  durement  me 
teste,  que  j'en  feroie  les  ex  voler, 
et  que  je  m'escerveleroie  tos"  (14, 
6-12). 

In  I,  2,  3,  and  5  the  author  of  Floire  et  Blancheflor  has  preserved 
something  of  the  original  legend,  while  4  is  entirely  different.  Reinhold 
thinks  that  the  idea  of  the  false  tomb  may  have  been  suggested  to  our 
poet  by  a  similar  device  in  Apollonius  of  Tyre.^®  After  citing  several 
parallel  passages'*"  he  says  :^^  "II  y  a  d'autant  plus  d'analogie  entre  notre 
recit  et  celui  de  "Fl.  et  Bl."  que,  dans  les  deus  poemes,  c'est  la  femme  qui 
conseille  a  son  mari  de  batir  un  tombeau." 

We  have  seen  that  the  motifs  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette  and  those  of 


4.  In  order  to  make  Floire 
believe  that  Blancheflor  is  dead  a 
tomb  is  erected  to  her. 

5.  Floire  decides  to  kill  himself 
with  a  g.rafe  d' argent  that  Blanche- 
flor had  given  him  (I,  785-848). 


-^  See  Historia  Apolloni  regis  Tyri,  pub.  by  A.  Riese,  2nd  edition,  p.  63  ff. 
and  75   fif.     (Teubner.) 

^0  Revue  de  philologie  frangaise,  XIX,  pp.  158-159. 
31  See  op.  cit.j  p.  159. 


LEGEND  OF   FLOIRE   AND   BLANCHEFLOR JOHNSTON  133 

Floire  et  Blancheflor  are  similar  up  to  the  time  that  the  two  lovers  are 
separated.  The  search  and  reunion  of  the  lovers  are,  however, 
entirely  different  in  the  two  poems.  Aucassin  and  Nicolette  meet  first  in 
a  bower  and  after  various  adventures  are  separated  again.  Disguised 
as  a  harper  Nicolette  then  searches  until  she  finds  Aucassin  at  Beaucaire. 
On  the  other  hand  Floire  travels  over  land  and  sea  until  he  finds 
Blancheflor  in  a  harem  at  Babylon.  The  difference  in  the  search  motif 
in  these  two  legends  is  doubtless  due  to  the  fact  that  the  author  of  Floire 
et  Blacheflor  used  two  stories  in  the  composition  of  his  poem.  He  knew 
the  legend  contained  in  Aucassin  et  Nicolette,  where  one  lover  goes  in 
search  of  the  other,  and  he  also  knew  an  Arabic  tale  according  to  which 
a  young  man  goes  to  seek  his  love  and  finally  finds  her  in  a  harem. 
Whether  these  two  tales  were  combined  by  the  author  of  Floire  et 
Blancheflor  or  by  the  one  from  whom  he  received  the  story,  it  makes 
little  difference.  In  any  case,  the  fusion  of  the  two  legends  is  a  natural 
development,  since  it  merely  involves  the  substitution  of  the  search  motif 
found  in  the  Arabic  story  for  the  one  contained  in  the  source  of  Aucassin 
et  Nicolette. 

The  purpose  of  the  foregoing  comparison  is  twofold.  In  the  first 
place,  it  shows  beyond  any  reasonable  doubt  that  the  legend  contained 
in  Aucassin  et  Nicolette  is  the  same  as  that  found  in  the  first  part  of 
Floire  et  Blancheflor.  The  principal  motifs  are  certainly  similar  in  both 
versions  and  the  slight  differences  can  be  easily  explained  as  additions 
to  the  original  story.  In  my  opinion,  Gaston  Paris  was  right  when  he 
said  :^-  "En  effet,  Floire  et  Blancheflor  d'un  cote,  Aucassin  et  Nicolette 
de  I'autre,  sont  sans  doute  les  representants  du  meme  couple  amoureux." 

In  the  second  place,  this  comparison  leads  one  to  believe  that  Floire 
et  Blancheflor  was  not  the  source  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette  as  Brunner, 
Suchier,  and  Paris  supposed,  but  that  both  have  a  common  source  for  the 
part  of  the  legend  preceding  and  including  the  separation  of  the  two 
lovers.  If  we  should  accept  the  theory  of  the  scholars  just  mentioned, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  explain  why  the  author  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette 
rejected  so  many  things  found  in  his  source.  One  can  hardly  understand 
why  he  should  have  omitted  entirely  important  points  like  the  pilgrimage 
to  Saint  James,  the  invasion  of  a  Saracen  king,  the  fictitious  tomb,  the 
long  journey  to  Babylon,  and  the  harem  episode.  We  should  at  least 
expect  to  find  some  trace  of  these  motifs  in  any  direct  imitation  of 
Floire  et  Blancheflor.  Even  in  the  portion  of  the  two  poems  where  the 
agreement  is  evident  the  differences  are  too  important  to  permit  us  to 


32  See  Beda,  op.  cit.,  p.  xx. 


134  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

suppose  a  direct  borrowing.  Moreover,  at  least  two  thirds  of  Floire  et 
Blancheflor  seems  to  have  been  entirely  unknown  to  the  author  of 
Aucassin  et  Nicolette.  The  denouement  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette  as  well 
as  that  of  Florent  et  Clarisse,^^  a  later  version  of  the  same  legend,  point 
to  the  fact  that  in  the  source  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette  the  young  man  does 
not  go  to  a  distant  land  to  seek  his  love  as  in  the  case  of  Floire  and 
Blancheflor.  Florent  finds  Clarisse  in  a  forest,  a  short  distance  from  the 
place  where  they  had  been  imprisoned,  and  it  will  be  remembered  that 
the  first  meeting  of  Aucassin  and  Nicolette  after  their  separation  was  in 
a  bower  «  aforkent  set  cemin.  With  reference  to  the  episode  where 
Nicolette  disguised  as  a  harper  goes  in  search  of  Aucassin,  Gaston  Paris 
says  :^^<^  "I\  est  emprunte  au  beau  poeme  de  Beuve  d'Hanstone,  ou  Josiane 
s'habille  en  jongleresse  et  retrouve  aussi  son  amant  en  lui  chantant  ses 
propres  aventures."  It  is  very  probable,  therefore,  that  in  the  source  of 
Aucassin  et  Nicolette  the  young  man  finds  his  love  in  a  forest,  not  far 
from  the  place  where  they  had  been  imprisoned  and  for  this  search 
motif  the  author  of  Floire  et  Blancheflor  substituted  the  journey  to  an 
Arabic  harem. 

Let  us  now  examine  some  of  the  traditions  connected  with  Arabic 
harems  and  see  if  they  furnish  the  motifs  for  the  second  part  of  Floire  et 
Blancheflor.  The  Arabic  stories  analyzed  in  this  study  have  already  been 
cited  by  Huet^*  and  the  resemblances  between  them  and  our  legend  have 
been  pointed  out  by  him. 

The  historian  Ibn-al-Djauzi^^  relates  the  story  of  a  young  merchant 
of  Bagdad  who  falls  in  love  with  a  young  girl  who  comes  to  make 
purchases  of  him  and  later  finds  that  she  is  the  favorite  slave  of  the 
mother  of  the  Caliph  al-Moqtadir,  who  had  sent  her  to  buy  some  cloth. 
The  young  slave  also  loves  the  merchant  and  informs  him  that  her 
mistress  would  be  willing  to  emancipate  her  and  marry  her  to  the  man  of 
her  choice  provided  she  could  see  him  and  be  convinced  that  he  was 
well-bred.  The  young  merchant  is  concealed  in  a  chest  which  is  supposed 
to  contain  the  cloth  that  the  slave  had  just  purchased  and  carried  into 
the  harem,  where  he  is  presented  to  the  mother  of  the  Caliph,  who  then 
gives  her  consent  to  the  marriage. 

In  another  story  a  young  money  changer  of  Bagdad  is  in  love  with 
a  slave  sent  to  make  purchases  for  the  harem  of  Caliph  Motawakkil. 
The  young  man  remains  near  the  door  of  the  harem  and  gives  presents 

•3  In  Ausgaben  und  Abhandlungen  atis  dem  Gebiete  der  romanischen 
Philologie.    Veroffentlicht  von  E.  Stengel.    Vol.  LXXXIII. 

33a  Preface  to  Bida's  translation  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette,  p.  xxi. 
8*  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  348-359;  XXXV,  95-100. 
35  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  355- 


LEGEND  OF   FLOIRE  AND   BLANCHEFLOR  —  JOHNSTON  135 

to  different  persons  of  the  court,  among  others  to  a  porter  and  a  eunuch. 
The  latter  makes  it  possible  for  him  to  enter  the  harem  each  night 
wearing  a  costume  similar  to  that  of  the  Caliph.  Suddenly,  however, 
he  sees  the  real  Caliph  coming,  loses  his  head,  and  goes  to  the  wrong 
door.  Fortunately  the  young  girl  who  lives  in  the  room  where  he  enters 
is  the  sister  of  the  one  he  loves  and  is  informed  regarding  the  matter. 
She  conceals  him  and  goes  in  search  of  her  sister  who  arrives  after 
appearing  somewhat  obstinate  as  in  the  case  of  Blancheflor.  The  young 
man  enters  the  room  and  later  when  he  wishes  to  leave  the  palace,  dis- 
guised as  a  woman,  he  is  recognized.  However,  the  Caliph  pardons  him 
and  permits  him  to  marry  the  beautiful  slave.^® 

According  to  another  Arabic  story  a  merchant  of  Coufa  purchases  at 
the  slave  market  a  woman  who  has  a  daughter  the  same  age  as  his  son. 
The  two  children  grow  up  together  and  love  each  other  passionately, 
to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  merchant,  who  proposes  to  marry  his  son 
to  the  companion  of  his  childhood.  The  evening  before  the  marriage, 
however,  the  governor  Haddjadj  passing  along  the  street  hears  the  slave 
singing  beautifully  in  a  garden  belonging  to  the  merchant.  Haddjadj 
has  her  kidnapped  and  offers  her  to  the  Caliph  of  Damas  for  his  harem. 
The  young  man  is  inconsolable  and  at  once  becomes  seriously  ill.  A 
physician  discovers  the  cause  of  his  sickness  and  proposes  to  go  with  him 
in  search  of  the  slave.  They  set  out  and  arrive  first  at  Alep,  then  at 
Damas,  where  the  young  man  disguised  as  a  woman  succeeds  in  entering 
the  harem.  As  in  the  preceding  story,  however,  he  goes  to  the  wrong 
door  and  enters  the  apartment  of  the  Caliph's  sister,  who  informs  her 
brother.  Moved  by  the  story  of  his  sister  the  Caliph  then  allows  the  two 
lovers  to  depart.^^ 

In  order  to  prove  that  the  harem  in  Floire  et  Blancheflor  is  of  Arabic 
origin  it  is  not  enough  to  show  that  the  French  description  agrees  in 
all  important  points  with  the  Arabic  stories  given  above,  but  they  must 
also  agree  in  minor  points  and  details.  We  have  already  seen  that  the 
theme  of  a  young  man  entering  a  harem  in  search  of  a  slave  that  he  loves 
is  found  in  both  cases.  Now  let  us  see  if  the  details  are  of  such  a  charac- 
ter as  to  convince  us  that  the  French  description  is  beyond  doubt  of 
Arabic  origin.  If  the  Arabic  theory  is  correct,  the  material  on  which 
it  is  based  should  not  only  furnish  the  principal  motifs  of  our  legend, 
but  it  should  also  explain  customs  and  geographical  references  that  would 
otherwise  remain  obscure.  With  this  point  in  mind  let  us  see  what 
light  the  Arabic  stories  already  given  shed  upon  the  following  problems  in 
Floire  et  Blancheflor: 

36  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  355-6. 
"  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  3S6. 


136  MATZKE    MEMORIAL  VOLUME 

1.  The  tor  as  puceles  shows  the  characteristics  of  an  Arabic  harem. 
In  this  connection  Huet  says  :^^  "La  tour  contient  140  chambres,  chaque 
chambre  renfermant  une  jeune  fille  (I,  v.  1644,  1660).  Ces  jeunes  filles, 
exclues  de  toute  communication  avec  le  dehors,  peuvent  cependant  se  voir 
entre  elles,  puisque  Blanchefleur  a  pu  Her  connaissance  avec  Claris  et  que 
Claris  va  I'appeler.  Chaque  matin,  a  tour  de  role,  deux  jeunes  filles  vont 
servir  I'amirant  a  son  lever  (I,  v.  1678  s.)  : 

Trestoutes  celes  qui  i  sont 
Dous  a  dous  son  service  font, 
Iceles  dous  que  il  eslit, 
A  son  lever  et  a  son  lit; 
L'une  sert  de  I'eve  doner 
Et  la  touaille  tient  son  per. 

Ces  details,  degages  du  fantastique  auquel  ils  sont  meles,  sont 
simplement  la  description  d'un  harem  de  khalife  ou  de  sultan  arabe; 
on  les  retrouve  dans  les  Mille  et  une  Nuits.  Les  eunuques  armes,  comme 
gardiens  de  harem,  se  retrouvent  dans  le  conte  du  Cheval  de  hois  d'ebene 
(traduction  de  Burton,  edition  de  1885,  V,  8)  et  dans  le  conte  de 
Schemselnihar  (looi  Nuits,  trad.  Galland,  edit.  Pantheon  litter.,  p.  245, 
Burton,  III,  171).  Les  odalisques  qui  assistent  au  lever  du  khalife  se 
retrouvent  dans  le  conte  du  Dormeur  eveille  (ibid.,  p.  444).  Je  ferai 
remarquer  que  ce  detail  est  essentiel,  puisqu'il  amene  la  catastrophe. 
Un  autre  detail,  encore  plus  essentiel  pour  la  marche  du  recit,  est  que 
chaque  jeune  fille  a  sa  propre  chambre:  Burton  qui  connaissait  si  bien 
les  moeurs  orientales,  signale  ce  trait  comme  une  chose  habituelle  dans 
une  note  de  sa  traduction  des  Mille  et  une  Nuits :  nota  the  different  rooms, 
each  "odalisque"  or  concubine  having  her  own"  (I,  286,  note  i). 

2.  When  Floire  is  found  in  the  sultan's  castle,  he  is  thought  to  be  a 
woman : 

"Mes  cambrelens  por  li  ala; 
Un  jovencel  o  li  trova 
Dormant,  cuida  que  fust  pucele." 

(Cf.  Irhmanuel  Bekker's  edit.  vv.  2733-5)." 

^^  Romania,  XXVIII,  350. 

'3  See  also  Du  Merit's  edition,  I,  vv.  2387-92 : 

Au  chambrelenc  dist :   "Les  poitrines 

Me  descoevre  des  deus  meschines : 

Lor  mameles  primes  verrons, 

Et  puis  si  les  esveillerons." 

Cil  les  descoevre;  s'aparut 

Que  cil  est  horn  qui  illuec  jut. 


LEGEND  OF  FLOIRE  AND   BLANCHEFLOR — JOHNSTON  137 

This  is  doubtless  a  survival  of  the  Arabic  tradition  according  to  which 
the  lover  enters  the  harem  disguised  as  a  woman.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  in  two  of  the  Arabic  stories  given  above  the  young  man  is  dressed 
like  a  woman. 

3.  In  French  I  and  in  the  versions  depending  on  it  Gloris*°  is  the 
companion  and  equal  of  Blancheflor.  This  idea  of  equality  in  the  oriental 
harem*^  was,  however,  unknown  in  the  west  and  hence  the  Greek  and 
Spanish  versions  and  the  Cantarc  di  Fiorio  e  BianciHore  make  Gloris 
a  servant  of  Blancheflor.*^ 

4.  How  are  we  to  explain  the  fact  that  in  all  the  versions  of  Floire 
et  Blancheflor  the  basket  of  flowers  containing  Floire  is  always  carried 
to  Gloris'  door  by  mistake?  Does  this  incident  not  find  its  explanation 
in  the  two  Arabic  stories  already  cited,  where  the  young  man  in  search  of 
the  beautiful  slave  goes  to  the  door  of  the  Caliph's  sister  by  mistake?  It 
will  be  remembered  also  that  the  slave  shows  the  same  obstinancy  as 
Blancheflor  when  informed  that  her  lover  is  in  the  harem. 

5.  Geographical  references  in  our  poem  also  support  the  Arabic 
theory.    The  harem  in  French  I  is  connected  with  the  Babylon  of  Asia : 

"De  I'autre  part,  coum'est  a  vis, 
Court  uns  flueves  de  paradis, 
Qui  Eufrates  est  apeles." 

(w.    I747-49-) 

The  substitution  of  the  Babylon  of  Egypt  in  the  later  versions  of 
the  legend  shows  that  the  inhabitants  of  Europe  in  the  twelfth  century 
were  not  familiar  with  the  Babylon  of  Asia.  Hence  the  description  of 
the  Babylon  of  Asia  in  French  I  doubtless  came  from  the  East.  In  this 
connection  Gaston  Paris  says  :*^  "La  description  de  Babylone,  telle  qu'elle 
est  dans  I,  c'est-a-dire  de  Babylone  d'Asie,  parait  remonter  a  des  sources 
anciennes,  tandis  que  la  substitution  de  Babylon  d'figypte,  seule  connue  au 
moyen  age,  est  sans  doute  un  trait  plus  moderne." 

Our  poem  also  contains  a  reference  to  Baudas,  situated  a  short 
distance  from  Babylon.  The  name  Baudas,  however,  is  probably  derived 
from  Bagdad. 

My  objection  to  the  Arabic  theory  as  set  forth  by  Huet  is  that  it 
claims  too  much.  While  the  stories  cited  by  him  explain  the  second  part 
of  Floire  et  Blancheflor,  they  do  not  seem  to  shed  any  light  on  the  source 

*o  See  vv.  2099-2104. 

*i  See  Romania,  XXVIII,  350. 

*2  See  Huet,  Romania,  XXVIII,  352-3. 

*^  Romania,   XXVIII,  443-4. 


138  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

of  the  first  part  of  the  poem,  Reinhold  called  attention  to  the  weak 
point  in  the  oriental  theory  when  he  said  :**  "Done  la  premiere  moitie  du 
poeme  frangais,  notamment  I'expedition  du  roi  Felis  pour  piller  les 
pelerins,  la  naissance  de  deus  enfants  et  leur  sejour  commun  a  recole, 
I'amour  du  heros  pour  la  jeune  fille  si  gracieusement  decrit,  la  resistance 
du  pere,  laquelle  a  pour  suite  la  vente  de  I'heroine  et  toutes  les  aventures 
posterieures,  tous  ces  traits  ne  peuvent  que  contredire  la  theorie  orientale. 
II  est  difficile  d'imaginer  notre  roman  sans  cela.  Si  Ton  ecarte  les  motifs 
que  je  viens  d'enumerer,  nous  aurons  un  autre  recit,  mais  ce  ne  sera  plus 
Floire  et  Blanchefleur." 

If  my  conclusions  be  correct,  the  kernel  of  the  legend  of  Floire  and 
Blancheflor  is  the  story  of  two  children  (the  son  of  a  king  and  a  slave  girl) 
who  grow  up  together  and  love  each  other  tenderly.  The  father  of  the 
hero  opposes  the  marriage  because  of  the  inferior  rank  of  the  heroine  and 
the  opposition  of  the  father  leads  to  the  separation  of  the  two  lovers. 
This  widely  known  theme  is  the  basis  of  both  Floire  et  Blancheflor  and 
Aucassin  et  Nicolette  and  the  differences  between  the  two  poems  are 
doubtless  due  to  the  difference  in  the  temperament  and  purpose  of  the 
authors  and  also  to  the  fact  that  one  was  familiar  with  traditions  that 
were  unknown  to  the  other.  In  addition  to  the  legend  contained  in  the 
source  of  Aucassin  et  Nicolette,  the  author  of  Floire  et  Blancheflor  knew 
and  used  an  Arabic  tradition  according  to  which  a  young  man  enters  a 
harem  in  search  of  his  love. 


**  See  Revue  de  philologie  frangaise,  XIX,  162. 


ARATUS    AND   THEOCRITUS 
Augustus  Taber  Murray 

IT  IS  the  purpose  of  the  present  paper  to  open  once  more  the  question 
of  the  identity  of  the  Aratus  mentioned  in  Theocritus  VI  and  VII, 
and  to  give  the  reasons  why,  despite  its  rejection  by  almost  all 
Theocritean  scholars,  the  old  view  that  we  have  here  to  do  with  the 
poet,  Aratus  of  Soli,  seems  to  me,  after  all  correct. 

That  the  two  men  were  one  and  the  same  is  stated,  though  tentatively, 
by  the  writer  of  the  hypothesis  to  Idyl  VI  (SvvaTai,  ovTo<i  elvai  6  rwv 
^aivo/xevcov  TTotTjT'q';)  and  by  the  scholiasts  on  Idyl  VI.  2,  although 
no  argument  is  advanced,  save  the  fact  that  this  Aratus  was  a 
contemporary  of  Theocritus ;  and  the  possibility  is  hinted  at  that  we  may 
perhaps  have  to  do  with  another  individual  bearing  the  same  name.  Such 
statements  in  scholia  and  hypotheses  of  course  prove  no  more  than  this : 
that  to  the  unknown  writer,  as  to  us,  the  identification  with  the  well- 
known  Aratus  seems  at  first  sight  at  least  plausible.  It  is  surely  natural 
that  any  one  having  no  bias  in  favor  of  a  different  view,  finding  an  Aratus 
micntioned  by  Theocritus  as  his  friend,  and  knowing  that  the  author  of 
the  Phaenomena  v^'as  a  contemporary  of  Theocritus,  should  assume  that  he 
was  the  Aratus  in  question.  The  plausibleness  of  this  view  led  to  its 
tacit  or  expressed  adoption  by  all  scholars  without,  so  far  as  I  know,  a 
single  dissenting  voice,  until  von  Wilamowitz  published  his  paper,  Aratos 
von  Kos  (Nachrichten  von  der  konigl.  Gesellschaft  der  Wissenschaften 
zu  Gottingen,  Philologisch-historische  Klasse,  1894,  No.  2).  In  this  he 
denied  that  any  grounds  exist  for  the  acceptance  of  the  older  view,  and 
maintained  that  the  Aratus  mentioned  by  Theocritus  is  some,  otherwise 
unknown,  Coan,  who  had  entertained  Theocritus  during  his  stay  in 
Cos,  and  had  become  his  close  friend. 

Since  the  appearance  of  that  paper  practically  all  Theocritean 
scholars  have,  with  singular  unanimity,  given  up  their  previous  opinions. 
and  accepted  the  conclusions  of  von  Wilamowitz  as  completely  established. 
Susemihl,  for  example,  who  in  his  Griechische  Litteratur  in  der  Alexan- 
drinerseit  had  based  many  deductions  upon  the  assumed  presence  of 
Aratus  in  Cos  at  the  time  of  the  (hypothetical)  bucolic  school  gathered 
round  Philetas,  relinquishes  this  position  absolutely  in  an  article  in  the 
Jahrhucher  for  1896,  entitled,  Zur  Alexandrinischen  Litteraturgeschichte. 
He  there  writes  of  the  demolishing  of  the  older  view  as  follows  (p.  392  1  : 


140  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

"Das  hat  wenigstens  fiir  mich  iiberzeugend  W.  nachgewiesen,  und  wir 
miissen  es  ihm  danken,  dasz  er  uns  von  einem  folgenschweren  irrtum 
befreit  hat,  so  schmerzlich  es  auch  ist  wiederum  einen  der  wenigen 
stiitzpunkte  fiir  die  herstellung  des  chronologischen  knochengeriistes 
der  alexandrinischen  litteraturgeschichte  zu  verlieren."  Again  he  writes 
(ibid.  p.  393)  :  "In  Kos  kann  er  (t.  e.,  Aratus)  seine  ^atvofieva  nicht 
gedichtet  haben,  wenn  er  eben  nie  dort  war."  (Note  that  one  great 
difficulty  in  accepting  the  identification  of  the  Aratus  of  Theocritus  with 
the  poet  of  Soli,  was  that  it  was  assumed  to  bring  with  it  the  necessity 
of  accepting  also  the  belief  in  a  stay  in  Cos  on  the  part  of  Aratus  in  the 
years  preceding  the  death  of  Philetas.  That  this,  however,  is  not  the  case 
will  appear  in  the  course  of  this  paper.) 

Geflfcken,  again  (Leonidas  von  Tarent,  p.  134,  n.  2)  writes:  "Mit 
dem  groszen  Dichterbund  ist  die  Sache  doch  etwas  zweifelhaft  geworden, 
seit  wir  wissen,  dasz  Arat  mit  Theokrit  nicht  auf  Kos  zusammen  war." 
Note  the  emphatic  statement,  "wir  wissen."  Similarly  Cholmeley 
{Theocritus,  Introd.  p.  16  f.)  :  "The  identification  is  in  the  highest  degree 
improbable,  and  beyond  the  coincidence  of  name  has  nothing  to  supy)ort 
it."  Again  Wendel  {De  Nominibus  Bucolicis,  p.  11),  after  supporting  the 
common  view  that  the  Sicelidas  of  Theocritus  VII  is  to  be  identified  with 
Asclepiades,  continues :  "Contra  Aratum  Thalysiorum  diversum  esse  a 
poeta  Solensi  Wilamowitzius  optimis  argumentis  demonstravit."  Knaack 
also,  in  his  article  on  Aratos  in  the  Pauly-Wissowa  Real-encyclopadie , 
takes  a  similar  position,  and  devotes  a  separate  article  to  the  hypothetical 
Aratos  von  Kos ;  and  the  same  position  is  vigorously  defended  by  Rannow 
in  his  review  of  Christ's  Ueberlieferte  Auszvahl  Theokritischer  Gedichlc 
in  the  Berl.  Phil.  Woch.  1894,  col.  968f.  Legrand  (Theocrite,  p.  43)  is 
less  ready  to  relinquish  the  identification,  but  makes  the  following 
admission :  "Dans  un  article  encore  plus  recent  M.  de  Wilamowitz  a  fait 
voir  combien  il  est  peu  siir  que  I'Aratus  de  la  septieme  idylle  soit  le  poete 
auteur  des  Phenomenes." 

It  may  seem  somewhat  rash,  in  the  face  of  this  all  but  universal 
agreement  among  scholars,  to  maintain  that  the  older  view  is  nevertheless 
correct;  but,  while  demonstration  is  out  of  the  question,  I  think  the 
probabilities  are  strongly  in  its  favor.  This  position  has  been  taken  by 
Christ  (Ueberlieferte  Auszvahl,  p.  20),  but  he  relies  upon  intrinsic 
probabilities  rather  than  upon  detailed  proofs,  and  such  proofs  as  he  does 
advance  are  met  by  Rannow  in  his  review,  and  quite  demolished  by  von 
Wilamowitz  himself  (Hermes  1905,  p.  I39f.)-  Nevertheless  the  matter 
seems  to  me  deserving  of  a  new  consideration. 

We  start   with  this   fact:   Aratus*  poem,   whether   written   at   the 


ARATUS  AND  THEOCRITUS  —  MURRAY  141 

Macedonian  court,  or  at  Athens,  before  the  poet  went  to  Macedonia, 
was  certainly  published  before  the  literary  circle,  which  the  king, 
Antigonus  Gonatas,  had  gathered  around  him,  was  broken  up  by  the 
return  of  Pyrrhus  from  Italy  in  274.  This  is  incontestable.  By  274  the 
Phaenomena  had  been  published,  and  Aratus'  fame  was  immediately 
established.  Therefore  by  the  time  Theocritus  wrote  as  he  does  of  a 
friend  of  his  named  Aratus  (he  calls  him  ^eVo<?  in  VII  119,  and  in  vs. 
98  has,  "D.paro';  h^  6  ra  irdvra  (^LK.airaTO'i  ave'pt  ttjvo)),  Aratus,  the 
poet,  was  already  famous,  so  that  the  general  reader  would  inevitably 
think  of  him.  This  is  to  be  borne  in  mind,  although  it  may  of  course  be 
said  that  Theocritus  wrote  for  his  own  circle  of  friends,  rather  than  for 
the  general  public.  Moreover  the  name,  Aratus,  appears  to  have  been  a 
common  one  in  Cos  (Hicks-Paton,  Inscriptions  of  Cos).  As  to  the  fact 
that  Idyl  VI  is  addressed  to  a  certain  Aratus,  we  can  only  say  that  the 
Aratus  in  question  was  certainly  a  personal  friend  of  Theocritus ;  if  this 
fact  can  be  established  for  the  poet  of  Soli,  then  we  should  more  naturally 
think  of  him  than  of  some  unknown  Coan,  although  we  must  regard 
it  as  established  that  there  were  presumably  many  worthy  individuals 
in  Cos  who  bore  that  name,  and  to  whom  Theocritus  might  with  perfect 
propriety  and  naturalness  have  dedicated  a  poem.  As  to  the  date  of 
Idyl  VI  nothing  certain  can  be  said,  though  it  is  generally  put  relatively 
late ;  Idyl  VII  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  later  ones. 

Our  second  fact  is  this:  the  seventeenth  Idyl  of  Theocritus  opens 
with  the  opening  words  of  Aratus'  Phaenomena,  'Ek  Atb<;  apxcofieada. 
This  is  important,  despite  the  parallel  passages  which  can  be  adduced 
from  earlier  writers,  and  the  fact  that  the  words  form  what  may 
be  called  a  commonplace  of  hieratic  poetry.  If  a  poet  publishes 
a  work  whereby  he  becomes  famous,  and  which  opens  with  a  certain 
phrase,  and  in  the  years  immediately  following  another  poet  (and  a  poet 
who  had,  as  we  know  from  other  sources,  a  friend  named  Aratus) 
chooses  precisely  that  phrase  for  the  opening  of  a  poem  of  his,  the 
coincidence  is  not  due  to  chance.  'ApaTeta  8e  Kexpn'^a.i  ela^oXj},  says 
the  writer  of  the  hypothesis;  and  with  this  all  must  agree,  even  if  it 
be  denied  that  any  inference  is  to  be  drawn  from  this  regarding  a 
friendship  between  the  two  poets.  So  Susemihl  writes  {loc.  cit.  p.  391)  : 
"An  eine  solche  recht  kleine  {sc.  Huldigung)  konnte  hochstens  noch 
allenfalls  gedacht  werden,  wenn  andere  anklange  an  die  poesie  des 
Aratos  bei  Theokritos  nachweislich  waren ;  dasz  dies  aber  nicht  der  fall 
ist,  hat  W.  dargelegt."  v.  Wilamowitz,  after  reviewing  certain  apparent 
parallels  between  Aratus  and  Theocritus  {loc.  cit.,  p.  196)  does  indeed 
state  categorically  :  "Apollonius  hat  die  Phainomena  studirt,  aber  Theokrit 


142  MATZKE    MEMORIAL    VOLUME 

hat,  so  viel  wir  sehen  konnen,  keine  Notiz  von  ihnen  genommen. 
Alachen  wir  einen  Strich  durch  alles  was  v^'ir  iiber  die  Beziehungen 
dieser  beiden  Dichter  bisher  geglaubt  haben."  This  is  echoed  by  Legrand 
p.  43:  "J'adhere  sans  restriction  au  jugement  de  M.  de  Wilamowitz:  il  n'y 
a  dans  les  Idylles  aucune  imitation  d'Aratus ;  la  complaisance  avec  laquelle 
notre  poete  detaille  a  plusieurs  reprises  des  aspects  des  constellations 
(Id.  VII,  V.  53-54;  Id.  XXII,  V.  21-22;  Id.  XXIV,  v.  11-12)  se  rattache 
a  un  gout  de  I'epoque,  qu'  Aratus  a  flatte,  mais  qu'il  n'a  pas  cree." 

To  this  matter  we  may  justly  devote  a  few  moments'  consideration. 
I  may  say  at  the  start  that  I  attach  little  weight  to  verbal  coincidences, 
and  have  no  desire  to  bolster  up  a  theory  by  phrase-hunting.  I  will  point 
to  but  a  single  fact,  which  seems  to  me  significant, — the  manner  in  which 
the  stars  are  mentioned  in  certain  of  the  poems  of  Theocritus.  I  have 
just  quoted  the  verdict  of  Legrand;  but  he  alludes  merely  to  three 
passages,  and  in  my  opinion  gives  the  question  no  serious  thought.  Let 
us  again  look  at  the  matter  without  bias,  and  with  a  wilHngness  to 
recognize  probabilities.  Between  277  and  274  Aratus  published  an 
elaborate  astronomical  poem,  in  which  particular  attention  was  paid  to 
the  practical  questions  which  concern  the  mariner,  rather  than  to  the 
poetical  expression  of  the  awe  and  wonder  born  of  a  contemplation  of 
the  stars.  In  other  words,  his  poem  is  a  sort  of  "Nautical  Almanac"  in 
verse.  Now  in  the  poems  of  Theocritus  which  may  with  strong  proba- 
bility be  put  earlier  than  this  period  the  stars  play  no  part ;  but  in  some  of 
the  later  poems,  VII  e.  g.,  XIII,  XXII,  and  XXIV,  several  passages  occur 
which  are  strikingly  different  in  this  regard,  and  which  suggest  Aratus' 
manner,  and,  I  will  add,  Aratus'  influence. 

VII.  52ff.       eaaeruL  ' AyedvuKri  Ka\6<i  7r\6o<;  eh  M.LTvX'qvav, 
Xwrav  i(f>'  eaTrepioa  epi<pot<;  v6ro<;  vypct  Suokt] 
KVfiara^  JC  ^picov  or    iir'  coKeavQ)  7r6Sa<;  tcrxci  ktX. 

The  positions  indicated  both  for  the  Kids  and  for  Orion  mark  the 
stormy  season.  We  have  to  do  then,  not  with  the  poetry  of  the  stars, 
but  with  references  drawn  from  them  with  reference  to  the  weather, 
— an  illustration  of  the  practical  side  of  astronomy,  in  other  words. 

XIII.  25ff. 

a/A09  5'  avTeXXovTL  IleXetaSe?,  ia-xarial  Se 
apva  veov  /BoaKOvri,,  rerpa/x/jLevov  eXapo^   V^Vy 
raixo<i  vavTt\ia<;  /xcfji,va<;KeTO  delo<i  d(i>ro<i 
rjpcocciv  ktX, 


ARATUS  AND  THEOCRITUS MURRAY  143 

The  rising  of  the  Pleiades  at  day-break  (heliacal  rising)  falls  in  spring — 
at  the  end  of  April.  It  was  the  sign  of  the  opening  of  navigation.  Note 
here  how  the  season  is  designated  both  by  astronomic  and  "bucolic" 
signs. 

XIII.  49fif.  KarripLirt  5*   e?  fieXav  vZatp 

adpoo^,   0)9  6t€  vvpa-o^  arr'  ovpavov  ijpiirev  aarrjp 
adpoo^  iv  TTovTep,  vavrat*:  S^  rt?  elTrev  kraCpoLt 
'kov(^6t€P*  (o  Trtii8€<i  voielaS'  SvXa.     TrXcvo-rt/co?  ovpo^.* 

Shooting  stars  betokened  a  fresh  wind  according  to  the  ancient  view 
(Aratus  926!?.).  Here  again,  therefore,  we  have  to  do  with  thi  practical 
side  of  the  science  of  the  stars ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  contrast  the 
reference  to  the  shooting  star  as  a  piece  of  purely  poetic  imagery  (Homer 
A.  75ff.)-  (If  in  the  present  passage  the  reading  of  K  and  Call,  be 
accepted,  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  KovtpoTepa  iroielad'  ottXo  must 
be  "shorten  sail" ;  in  that  case  the  correct  interpretation  is  made 
clear  by  a  passage  in  Aratus  419). 

XXII.  8ff.  In  this  passage,  which  tells  how  the  Dioscuri  save  mariners 
from  peril,  and  for  which  an  interesting  parallel  may  be  cited  from  the 
Homeric  Hymn  to  the  Dioscuri  (XXXIII.  6ff.),  we  are  concerned  only 
with  the  phrase,  darpa  ^ta^6fjt€vai,  the  ships  sail  in  defiance  of  the  stars ; 
hence  the  mariners'  distress. 

XXII.  2lf., 

ix  5'  apicTOi  t'    i<f>dvr}aav  ova>v  t    dvh.  fieaaov  afiavprj 
(f>drvr)  arifxaivovaa  rh  irpb^  vXoov  evSia  irdvra. 

These  Unes  describe  the  clear  weather  following  the  storm.  The  mention 
of  the  Crib  is  of  interest ;  it  is  visible  only  in  the  clearest  weather. 

XXIV.  I  if., 

a/X09  5e  (rrp4^€Tat,  fieaovvKriov  £9  Svaiv  dpKTOi 
'D,pi(iiva  Kar    avTov,  S  B'  dfi<f)aiv€i  p-^yav  3>/xop  kt\. 
Here,  too,  a  somewhat  exact  knowledge  of  the  positions  of  the  con- 
stellations is  revealed,— a  very  different  thing  from  mere  poetic  imagery, 
or  the  conventional  epic  use.    This  is  seen  e.  g.  in  XXV.  85!, 

17^X109  fi€v  errena  irorl  ^6<l>ov  (^rpairtv  tirirow 
heUXov  rjfiap  dyap  ktX. 

It  is  clear  that  the  two  things  are  utterly  different. 

Now  I  am  not  prepared  to  maintain  that  a  single  one  of  these 
passages  is  a  reminiscence  of  any  passage  in  Aratus.  These  poems  come 
to  us  from  a  learned  age  in  which  any  one  might  write  learnedly.  But 
when  we  weigh  the  fact  that  the  passages  cited  from  Theocritus  are 


144  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

one  and  all  from  poems  later  than  the  publication  of  Aratus'  work ;  that 
Aratus  devoted  his  attention  primarily  to  astronomy  as  bearing  upon 
practical  navigation ;  that  it  is  precisely  this  feature  that  strikes  us  in 
these  Theocritean  passages;  that  in  the  poems  of  Theocritus  which  date 
from  a  time  before  Aratus'  work  could  have  come  to  his  notice  (XVI. 
XI,  and  presumably  others  of  the  bucolic  pieces)  we  see  nothing  of  this 
sort;  and  finally  that  on  other  grounds  we  have  seen  reason  to  assume 
a  connection  between  the  two  men,  the  conclusion  appears  irresistible 
that  this  assumption  is  well  grounded. 

There  remains  one  other  passage  in  which  some  have  seen  a  reference 
to  Aratus,  VII.  103  fif.  Here  Theocritus-Simichidas  prays  that  Pan  may 
grant  Aratus  the  fulfilment  of  his  desires. 

TOP  jxoL  II ay,  'O/idXa?  iparov  irehov  oare  XeXoyx^'i  kt\. 

Hauler  (De  Vita  Theocriti,  p.  13)  was  the  first  to  assume  that  the 
mention  of  Pan  in  this  connection  is  due  to  the  fact  that  Aratus  (of  Soli, 
of  course)  had  composed  a  hymn  to  Pan.  This  hymn  dates  from  278 
circa,  and  celebrated  the  victory  of  Antigonus  over  the  Celts,  a  victory 
due,  it  was  thought,  to  the  help  of  Pan.  This  view  has  been  energetically 
combatted  by  v.  Wilamowitz  {loc.  cit.)  and  seems  gratuitous.  It  should 
be  noted,  however,  that  Homole  is  a  mountain  in  Thessaly,  and  that  we. 
have  no  hint  of  any  connection  between  it  and  Pan  in  any  other  ancient' 
writer.  Hiller  suggests  that  there  may  have  been  some  mention  of  the 
mountain  in  Aratus'  poem;  but  unless  we  can  bring  Homole  into  connec- 
tion with  Antigonus'  campaign  against  the  Celts,  this  must  remain  a  mere 
assumption.  Such  a  connection  I  have  sought;  but  I  confess  that  in  the 
meagre  accounts  which  have  come  down  to  us  of  this  period,  I  have  not 
found  it. 

Finally  the  Syrinx,  which  has  come  down  to  us  among  the  Theocri- 
tean poems,  and  which,  while  not  of  indisputed  authenticity,  is  yet 
commonly  accepted  as  genuine,  is  concerned  largely  with  Pan,  and  a 
passage  in  it  has  seemed  to  Haberlin  (Carm.  Fig.  Grace .  p.  55)  to 
contain  an  allusion  to  Antigonus.  I  quote  his  words :  "Pan  enim  qui  in 
Fistula  tantis  laudibus  celebratur,  qui  barbaros  ex  Europa  pepulisse 
dicitur,  nemo  est  nisi  Antigonus  Gonatas,  qui  Gallos  ad  Lysimachiam 
tanta  caede  devicit,  ut  reliqui  in  Asiam  se  convertere  cogerentur."  This 
may  be  taken  for  whatever  it  may  be  worth.  The  tendency  on  the  part 
of  some  modern  scholars  to  seek  for  these  hidden  allusions  in  Theocritus 
is  strong;  but  Haberlin  has  convinced  few,  if  any.  (He  holds  that 
Theocritus  spent  some  time  at  the  court  of  Antigonus  before  he  sought 
to  win  the  favor  of  Hiero  (275/4).     At  the  same  time  the  assumption 


ARATUS  AND  THEOCRITUS MURRAY  145 

that  the  Syrinx  of  Theocritus  like  the  hymn  of  Aratus,  may  have  cele- 
brated the  victory  of  Antigonus,  would  square  well  with  a  supposed 
allusion  to  Aratus'  hymn  in  the  passage  of  Idyl  VII  which  we  have 
just  been  considering. 

Another  argument  which  strongly  favors  the  belief  that  the  Aratus 
of  Theocritus  was  the  famous  poet  may  perhaps  be  based  upon  the 
assumed  identifications  of  the  personages  mentioned  in  Idyl  VII.  If  tht 
pseudonym  Lycidas  designates  Leonidas  of  Tarentum  (so  Legrand, 
though  he  has  convinced  but  few,  and  the  identification  is  most  uncertain  > 
and  Tityrus  designates  Alexander  of  Aetolia  (so  most  scholars  after 
Meineke;  but  great  scepticism  now  prevails  regarding  the  whole  matter)  ; 
or  if  on  other  grounds  a  connection  between  Theocritus  and  these  two 
men  is  to  be  assumed ;  then  we  may  note  the  following  interesting  fact : 
both  Leonidas  and  Alexander  stand  in  close  relation  to  Aratus.  Leonidas 
addressed  an  epigram  to  him  in  praise  of  his  Phaenomena  (Anth.  Pal. 
IX.  25;  No.  XLIV  Geffcken),  and  Alexander  went  with  him  to  the 
court  of  Antigonus,  and  must  there  have  been  intimately  associated  with 
him.  We  may  go  further ;  Callimachus,  too,  addressed  an  epigram  to 
Aratus,  and,  more  than  that,  was  his  fellow  student  at  Athens.  The 
friendship  between  these  two  men  is  undeniable,  and  does  not  rest  upon 
insecure  combinations.  Now  Callimachus  and  Theocritus  were  friends, 
and  friends  at  a  date  preceding  the  composition  of  Idyl  VII.  We 
therefore  naturally  think  of  the  group,  Alexander,  Leonidas,  Aratus, 
Theocritus  and  Callimachus  as  bound  together  both  by  ties  of  literary 
association  and  by  personal  friendship. 

It  is  important  now  to  lay  stress  upon  the  fact  that  the  literary 
friendships  that  have  just  been  spoken  of  are  to  be  accepted  or  rejected 
quite  independently  of  the  theory  that  there  was  a  bucolic  school  at  Cos 
under  Philetas  (circa  295-290),  at  which  time  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  Aratus  can  have  been  in  Cos.  The  belief  in  the  existence  of  this 
bucolic  school,  once  so  wide-spread  (see  Susemihl's  vigorous  defence  of 
it  in  the  article  in  the  Jahrbiicher  for  1896,  above  alluded  to),  has  of  late 
been  steadily  losing  ground,  and  I  myself  do  not  accept  it.  But  a  belief 
in  the  friendship  of  the  literary  men  above  mentioned,  or,  to  be  specific,  a 
belief  that  Aratus  and  Theocritus  were  friends,  is  in  no  sense  contingent 
upon  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  this  (hypothetical)  bucolic  school. 
Theocritus  is  known  to  have  been  the  friend  of  Callimachus,  Callimachus 
to  have  been  the  friend  of  Aratus,  Leonidas  and  Alexander  to  have  been 
friends  of  Aratus,  and  very  probably  friends  of  Theocritus. 

Now  as  to  the  time  when  Theocritus  and  Aratus  may  with  the  highest 
degree  of  probability  be  assumed  to  have  been  intimately  associated. 


146  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

Theocritus  we  know  addressed  his    Xapire^  to  Hiero  in  275-4.    The 
date  has  been  disputed,  but  is  now  accepted  by  practically  all  scholars. 
That  he  was  at  that  time  in  Sicily  is  an  assumption  so  natural  as  to  need 
no  proof.     He  failed  in  his  attempt  to  win  Hiero's  favor,  and  three  or 
four  years  later  we  find  him  in  Alexandria  seeking  the  favor  of  Ptolemy. 
We  may  safely  assume  then  that  he  turned  eastward  in  274,  resolved  to 
seek  another  patron,  since  Hiero  had  rejected  his  suit.    Now  what  is  more 
natural  than  that  on  his  way  eastward  he  should  pay  a  visit  to  Cos,  one 
of  the  great  literary  centres  of  the  day?     The  statement  made  in  the 
hypothesis  to  Idyl  VH  may  be  a  mere  guess,  but  it  is  to  say  the  least 
extremely  plausible :    i7n8r]fii]aa<;  yap  ry  vqaco  6  ©eoKptro^  ore  ek  'A\e- 
^dvSpeLav  tt/jo?  UroXefJialov  a'rryei  kt\.   (See  the  present  writer's  paper  in 
the  Transactions  of  the  American  Philological  Association,  Vol.  XXXVH, 
p,  i35ff.).     Of  the  events  of  the  life  of  Aratus  we  know  all  too  little 
that  can  be  considered  certain,  but  one  of  the  incontestable  facts  is  that 
he  left  Macedonia,  when  the  literary  circle  at  Pella  was  broken  up  by  the 
return  of  Pyrrhus  from  Italy,  and  that  he  went  thence  to  Syria.     Is  it 
not  quite  within  the  range  of  probability  that  he,  too,  paid  a  visit  to  Cos 
at  this  time?    We  do  not  know  that  he  did,  but  the  facts  which  we  can 
be  said  to  know  about  the  movements  of  the  men  of  letters  of  this  period 
are  few  indeed,  and  we  have,  as  a  rule  to  be  content  with  probabilities. 
But  note  that  in  a  poem,  written  at  a  later  date,  but  referring,  it  seems 
clear,  to  this  time,  Theocritus  speaks  of  a  dear  friend  of  his  named  Aratus, 
and  three  years  after  this  begins  his  UroXefialo';  with  a  quotation  from  the 
Phaenomena  of  the  poet  Aratus.     Do  not  these  facts  naturally  belong 
together  ? 

We  must  now  ask  ourselves  whether  there  are  valid  counter- 
arguments, to  weaken  the  force  of  the  facts  and  inferences  with  which 
we  have  been  occupied.  Not  many  concrete  arguments  against  the  view 
that  Theocritus'  Aratus  was  the  poet  have  been  advanced ;  it  has  seemed 
enough  to  deny  that  we  have  any  real  proof  that  he  was  the  poet.  Four 
points  may,  however,  be  noticed. 

(i)  The  Aratus  of  Idyl  VII  is  not  spoken  of  as  a  poet,  though  even 
the  insignificant  ( ?)  Aristis  is  characterized  by  the  words, 

ov  ovSe  Kev  avrot  aeiSetv 
$ot/3o9  <Tvv  <f>6p/xi,y'yL  trapa  rpiTroSeaa-L  fiejatpoi. 

But  apart  from  the  fact  that  one  who  sings  of  the  love  affairs  of  a 
poet  does  not  necessarily  have  to  mention  his  poetry,  is  it  not  a  little 
absurd  to  assume  that  at  a  date  subsequent  to  the  publication  of  the 


ARATUS  AND  THEOCRITUS — MURRAY  147 

Phaenomena  it  was  necessary  for  Theocritus  to  assure  his  readers  that 
Aratus  really  was  a  poet? 

(2)  The  name  Aratus  frequently  appears  in  Coan  inscriptions,  so 
that  we  need  not  think  of  the  astronomer-poet.  True,  but  does  this 
fact  prove  that  we  may  not  think  of  him,  especially  if  there  are  valid 
grounds  for  assuming  that  he  and  Theocritus  were  friends  ? 

(3)  In  Idyl  VII  Aratus  is  called  the  |eW  of  Simichidas  (Theocri- 
tus), and  is  therefore  assumed  to  be  a  Coan  resident.  But  the  word 
feVo9  by  no  means  necessarily  means  "host" ;  what  if  it  were  Theocritus 
who  entertained  Aratus? 

(4)  Lastly  the  word  "A/saro?  has  the  initial  vowel  short  in 
Theocritus,  but  long  in  Leonidas  and  Callimachus  (where  it  refers  with 
certainty  to  the  poet).  But  the  name  of  the  poet  has  the  initial  vowel 
short  in  Meleager  {Anth.  Pal.  IV.  i.  49)  and  in  Strato  {ibid.  XII.  i.  i). 
Cholmeley  is  wholly  wrong  in  saying  "the  name  in  Theocritus  has  a:  in 
all  Greek  mention  of  the  poet  a-" 

But  from  Homer's  'Ape?,  "A/ae?  to  Horace's  Orion  by  the  side  of 
the  normal  Orion  a  shift  of  quantity  in  verse  in  the  case  of  proper  names 
is  so  common  that  this  mere  fact  has  but  little  weight. 

It  should  be  said  in  justice  to  the  eminent  scholar  whose  view 
this  paper  seeks  to  combat,  that  his  argument  is  based  not  upon  these 
slight  matters  alone,  but  upon  a  thorough-going  and  subtle  analysis  of 
Idyls  VI  and  VII,  which  has  seemed  to  many  scholars  quite  convincing. 
At  the  same  time  I  must  express  my  own  conviction  that  valid  grounds 
for  denying  that  Theocritus'  friend  Aratus  was  the  well-known  poet 
have  not  been  advanced,  while  the  grounds  advanced  in  this  paper  seem 
to  me  to  give  at  least  a  strong  presumption  that  he  was  the  poet. 

{Note:  I  have  in  this  paper  retained  the  conventional  spelling  of  the 
name  Philetas.  In  Hermes,  1902,  p.  212,  Cronert  argues  for  the  spelling 
Philitas.] 


THE    LAST    WORDS    OF    SHAKESPEARE'S    CHARACTERS 
Alphonso  Gerald  Newcomer 

EVIDENCE,  in  literature,  of  the  interest  attaching  to  the  last  words 
of  the  dying  is  very  old.  Andromache  {Iliad,  xxiv.  744)  mourns 
that  Hector  could  not  have  died  upon  a  bed,  speaking  to  her  "some 
wise  word"  which  she  might  have  cherished  in  memory.  The  parting 
injunction  of  Socrates,  as  reported  by  Plato  (Phacdo,  118),  was,  "Crito, 
I  owe  a  cock  to  Asclepius ;  will  you  remember  to  pay  the  debt  ?"  Though 
the  import  of  these  words  is  doubtful,  it  is  hard  to  resist  the  inference  that 
Socrates  wished  to  signify,  by  this  tribute  to  the  Great  Healer,  that  he 
was  about  to  be  healed  of  his  wound  of  living. 

Shakespeare    has    left    some    direct    testimony    on    this    subject    in 
Richard  II  (H,  i,  5)  : 

Gaunt.    O,  but  they  say  the  tongues  of  dying  men 
Enforce  attention  like  deep  harmony. 

As  a  dramatist,  moreover,  dealing  ideally  with  tragic  death — death, 
that  is  to  say,  as  an  end  of  action  or  character,  and  not  simply  of  life — 
Shakespeare  had  a  peculiar  opportunity  for  making  effective  the 
novissima  verba.  Yet  not  the  least  interesting  result  of  a  study  of 
Shakespeare's  practice  in  this  respect  is  the  realization  that  he  is  seldom 
so  false  to  life  or  his  art  as  to  seek  effectiveness  for  its  own  sake.  The 
man  who  could  write,  for  humorous  or  satirical  purposes,  the  ridiculous 
mock-heroics  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  ("O  Fates,  come,  come,"  etc., 
M.  N.  D.,  V,  i,  290)  was  fairly  safe  from  descending  to  the  theatrical  in 
serious  situations.  He  allows  John  of  Gaunt,  who  has  been  quoted  just 
above,  to  dally  at  some  length  with  figures  of  setting  suns  and  withered 
flowers,  and  to  quibble  grimly  on  his  name ;  but  this  is  in  a  very  early 
play,  when  the  poet  in  Shakespeare  was  still  contending  with  the 
dramatist.  Richard  the  Second's  theatrical  end  (V,  v,  112)  is  so  much 
in  keeping  with  that  king's  character  that  it  is  not  to  be  wholly  ascribed 
to  the  dramatist's  earlier  manner: 

Rich.    Mount,  mount,  my  soul !  thy  seat  is  up  on  high ; 
Whilst  my  gross  flesh  sinks  downward,  here  to  die. 


LAST   WORDS   OF   SHAKESPEARE's    CHARACTERS NEWCOMER  149 

Nevertheless,  the  manner  was  soon  discarded.  Rhyme,  for  instance,  at 
the  end  of  speeches,  was  a  thoroughly  established  convention  the 
artificiality  of  which  was  hardly  felt,  yet  from  nearly  all  the  greatest 
death-scenes  rhyme  is  absent.  Outside  of  the  English  chronicle  plays 
and  Timon  of  Athens,  all  either  early  or  doubtfully  Shakespeare's,  there 
are  but  four  instances.  Two  are  in  Julius  Caesar  (Titinius,  Brutus), 
which  is  the  earliest  of  the  Roman  plays.  Macbeth's  last  words  are 
rhymed,  but  they  are  not  dying  words  at  all.  In  the  fourth  case, 
Othello's,  there  is  the  ecstasy  of  love  seeking  reunion  in  death,  and  the 
lyric  note  quite  justifies  itself  (V,  ii,  358)  : 

Othello.    I  kiss'd  thee  ere  I  kill'd  thee:  no  way  but  this, 

Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss. 

In  this,  as  in  some  other  respects,  the  chronicle  plays  evince  a  less 
perfect  freedom  on  the  part  of  the  dramatist,  a  consciousness  as  of 
something  being  staged  rather  than  of  life  determining  its  own  issues. 

In  the  plays  altogether,  some  seventy  characters  die.  About  one 
fifth  of  these  are  unimportant — servants,  it  may  be,  or  soldiers,  who, 
like  Salisbury  and  Gargrave  in  i  Henry  VI,  utter  nothing  more  signifi- 
cant than  "O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us!"  A  few  others  are  taken  by 
surprise  and  allowed  short  shrift.  Polonius,  whose  reflections  would 
scarcely  have  been  edifying  anyway,  says  merely,  "O,  I  am  slain!" 
Even  Hamlet's  mother  is  granted  but  the  one  cry  of  natural  affection 
which  shows  where  her  loyalty  lay  at  the  last:  "O  my  dear  Hamlet, — 
The  drink,  the  drink!  I  am  poisoned."  Several  of  the  most  touching 
deaths  are  reported,  not  exhibited.  Such  is  that  of  Ophelia,  who  died 
swan-like,  floating  down  the  stream  and  chanting  "snatches  of  old  tunes" ; 
her  last  words  on  the  stage  had  been,  very  fittingly,  a  prayer  for  mercy 
on  "all  Christian  souls,  .  .  .  God  buy  ye."  Falstaff  returned  to  the 
innocence  of  childhood,  and,  if  Theobald's  emendation  is  unassailable, 
"babbled  of  green  fields."  Cordelia's  body  is  brought  lifeless  on  the 
stage ;  perhaps  she  and  her  father  had  beguiled  the  hours  in  prison  with 
singing,  and  telling  "old  tales."  Lady  Macbeth's  last  appearance  is  in 
delirium.  Again,  several  of  the  characters  who  meet  death  unexpectedly 
do  not  speak  after  the  mortal  stroke.  Their  last  words  have,  of  course,  no 
significance  as  such,  unless  the  dramatist  chooses  to  give  them  an  un- 
conscious significance,  after  the  familiar  eironeia  of  Greek  tragedy. 
There  may  be  an  example  of  this  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  (V,  viii,  3) 
where  Hector,  weary  of  slaughter,  puts  off  his  helmet,  saying,  "Now  is 
my  day's  work  done ;  I'll  take  good  breath."    Or  Macbeth  may  be  ironi- 


150  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

cally  made  to  pronounce  his  own  eternal  doom,  when  he  cries  (V,  viii, 
33): 

Macbeth.  Lay  on,  Macduff, 

And  damn'd  be  him  that  first  cries,  "Hold,  enough !" 

Yet  it  is  not  likely.  It  is  not  easy  to  imagine  Shakespeare  breaking  his 
reserve  in  a  situation  like  this  and  giving  such  a  palpable  wink  to  the 
audience.  What  may  have  been  Macbeth's  consciously  final  thoughts, 
we  are  not  told;  and  there  is  the  same  silence  in  the  case  of  three  other 
arch-criminals,  Richard  Third,  Claudius,  and  lago. 

These  cases  aside,  there  remain  about  forty  characters  of  varying 
importance  whose  last  words  are  more  or  less  consciously  shaped  by  the 
knowledge  of  approaching  dissolution.  The  words  run  through  pretty 
much  the  whole  gamut  of  what  might  be  expected  in  actual  conditions, 
from  prayer  to  prophecy,  from  curses  to  blessings,  from  rebellious 
outcries  to  resignation  or  even  rapturous  joy.  No  one  knew  better  than 
Shakespeare  the  incalculable  ways  of  the  human  spirit,  or  has  portrayed 
them  with  greater  daring.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  the  strong  contrast 
in  his  treatment  of  two  not  very  dissimilar  deaths — Hotspur's  in  i 
Henry  IV,  and  Mercutio's  in  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Courageous  men  both, 
full  of  the  lust  of  life,  proud,  chivalrous,  they  are  suddenly  confronted 
with  the  great  arrest.  Hotspur  falls  to  moralizing  in  a  lofty  strain 
(V,  iv,  77) : 

Hot.     O,  Harry,  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  my  youth ! 
I  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life 
Than  those  proud  titles  thou  hast  won  of  me. 
They  wound  my  thoughts  worse  than  thy  sword  my  flesh. 
But  thought's  the  slave  of  life,  and  life  time's  fool  ; 
And  time,  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world, 
Must  have  a  stop. 

Though  a  little  declamatory  in  tone,  the  words  are  dramatically  true.  To 
the  impetuous  soldier,  checked  thus  in  mid  career,  one  of  the  sorest 
pangs  of  death  lay  in  its  arrest  of  action.  Yet,  with  the  wisdom  to 
universalize  that  arrest,  he  reconciles  himself,  and  us,  to  the  pang.  In 
a  very  different  tone  and  to  a  very  different  effect,  though  apparently 
with  no  less  dramatic  truth,  the  wounded  Mercutio  rails  {R.  and  J.,  Ill, 
i,  96)  : 

Mer.  Ay,  ay,  a  scratch,  a  scratch ;  marry,  'tis  enough.  .  .  . 
No,  'tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide  as  a  church-door ;  but 
'tis  enough,  'twill  serve.  Ask  for  me  to-morrow,  and  you  shall 
find  me  a  grave  man.  I  am  pepper'd,  I  warrant,  for  this  world. 
A  plague  o'  both  your  houses!  'Zounds,  a  dog,  a  rat,  a  mouse, 
a  cat,  to  scratch  a  man  to  death ! 


LAST   WORDS   OF   SHAKESPEARE's    CHARACTERS NEWCOMER  151 

Mercutio  will  not  be  reconciled,  and  he  pours  out  the  bitterness  of  his 
soul.  Yet  through  it  shines  the  contempt  of  a  noble  spirit  for  the  pettiness 
of  the  toils  in  which  Fate  stoops  to  entrap  us,  a  fine  scorn  for  the  order 
of  things  in  which  so  slight  a  cause  can  bring  such  seemingly  dispropor- 
tionate results.  Bitter  as  the  words  are,  there  is  a  banter  in  the  tone 
that  saves  them  from  any  suspicion  of  a  whine,  and  he  dies  the  gallant 
Mercutio  still. 

Dramatic  truth  is  of  course  not  necessarily  opposed  to  self- 
expression,  and  it  is  scarcely  to  be  denied  that  Shakespeare  often  reveals 
himself  in  his  work,  were  we  only  discerning  enough  to  know  when. 
In  the  words  of  Mercutio  above,  one  may  very  well  read  something  of  the 
dramatist's  own  intellectual  bewilderment  over  the  mysteries  of  existence, 
along  with  an  emotional  poise  that  can  make  light  of  the  puzzle.  Again, 
one  may  suspect  a  more  than  ordinary  sensitiveness  to  the  sadness  of  the 
unfulfilled  promises  of  life,  from  the  frequency  with  which  this  note  is 
sounded.  Observe  Hotspur's  "O,  Harry,  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  my 
youth !"  Oswald  exclaims,  "O,  untimely  death !"  And  there  are  a  dozen 
such  mourners'  comments  as  "How  sweet  a  plant  have  you  untimely 
cropp'd,"  and  "Death  lies  on  her  like  an  untimely  frost."  One  is 
tempted,  too,  to  see  something  more  than  mere  historical  or  dramatic 
truth  in  the  fact  that  suicide,  which  is  approved  in  the  Roman  plays,  is 
elsewhere  a  very  doubtful  virtue.  To  Titinius  it  is  "the  Roman's  part," 
to  Cleopatra  "the  high  Roman  fashion."  But  Horatio,  when  he  con- 
templates it,  must  half  deny  his  race:  "I  am  more  an  antique  Roman 
than  a  Dane."  Hamlet  is  convinced  that  the  Almighty  has  "fixed  his 
canon"  against  it.  Macbeth  flatly  pronounces  it  cowardice  or  folly: 
"Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  fool?"  And  Gloucester  protests  that 
only  intolerable  suffering  could  make  him  "fall  to  quarrel"  with  the  gods' 
"great  opposeless  wills."  But  to  attempt  to  draw  conclusions  about 
Shakespeare's  personal  character  or  beliefs  is  a  delicate  task;  we  are 
much  more  safe  in  keeping  to  observations  upon  his  art. 

There  are  limits  to  Shakespeare's  variety.  The  chronicle  plays 
disclose,  in  the  death  scenes,  some  similarities  that  may  almost  be  felt  to 
constitute  a  mannerism.  Compare  with  the  words  of  King  Richard 
("Mount,  mount,  my  soul,"  see  above)  these  of  young  Arthur  {K.  John 
IV,  iii,  19)  : 

Heaven  take  my  soul,  and  England  keep  my  bones ; 
and  these  of  the  Duke  of  York  (5  Henry  VI,  I,  iv,  168)  : 
My  soul  to  heaven,  my  blood  upon  your  heads ! 


152  MATZKE   MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

There  are  three  separate  declarations  that  death  is  not  the  worst  of  evils : 

Hotspur.     I  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life 
Than  those  proud  titles  thou  hast  won  of  me. 

— I  King  Henry  IV,  V,  iv,  78. 

Clifford.     O  Lancaster,  I  fear  thy  overthrow 
More  than  my  body's  parting  with  my  soul ! 

— ^  K.  Henry  VI,  II,  vi,  3. 

K.  Henry.    My  breast  can  better  brook  thy  dagger's  point 
Than  can  my  ears  that  tragic  history. 

— Idem,  V,  vi,  27. 

It  is  to  be  remembered,  of  course,  that  in  some  of  the  chronicle  plays 
we  cannot  always  be  sure  that  we  have  Shakespeare's  untrammeled  hand ; 
he  may  be  the  reviser  only,  or  sometimes  not  even  that.  The  interesting 
thing,  however,  to  note  is  that  when  we  come  to  the  tragedies  proper, 
which  are  all  later,  we  do  not  find  anything  approaching  these  simi- 
larities. Laertes  and  Antony  both  say  'T  can  no  more,"  but  this  is 
altogether  too  slight  a  thing  to  attach  any  importance  to.  It  is  clear  that 
the  maturing  of  the  dramatist's  powers  brought  with  it  no  tendency  to 
fix  or  harden,  but  always  a  wider  outlook,  a  more  perfect  freedom. 

Note  another  fact.  In  the  chronicle  plays  the  sufferers  remark 
rather  minutely  upon  their  bodily  symptoms.  Clifford  says  (j  Henry  VI, 
II,  vi,  27)  :  "The  air  hath  got  into  my  deadly  wounds,  And  much  effuse 
of  blood  doth  make  me  faint."  Henry  Fourth  speaks  of  his  "wasted 
lungs,"  Mortimer  of  his  "fading  breath"  and  "fainting  words;"  York 
says,  "I  am  faint;"  Warwick  says  (j  Henry  VI,  V,  ii,  7) : 

My  mangled  body  shows, 
My  blood,  my  want  of  strength,  my  sick  heart  shows 
That  I  must  yield  my  body  to  the  earth. 

Now  in  the  major  tragedies  there  is  practically  none  of  this  self-diagnosis. 
Shakespeare  came  to  see  that  such  words  have  no  place  in  a  really  moving 
tragic  scene.  A  striking  corroboration  is  afforded  by  Hamlet.  In  the 
early  draft  of  that  play  found  in  the  1603  quarto,  very  imperfectly 
printed  and  in  all  probability  garbled,  Hamlet's  last  words  are: 

O,  my  heart  sinks,  Horatio. 
Mine  eyes  have  lost  their  sight,  my  tongue  his  use : 
Farewell,  Horatio !    Heaven  receive  my  soul. 

This  indeed  is  not  Hamlet — it  might  be  anybody.     In  the  revised  and 


LAST   WORDS   OF   SHAKESPEARE'S    CHARACTERS  —  NEWCOMER  153 

enlarged  version  these  lines  disappear.  For  the  diagnosis  we  have  merely 
"The  potent  poison  quite  o'er-crows  my  spirit ;"  and  in  place  of  the  con- 
ventional prayer,  the  simple  and  impressive  "The  rest  is  silence." 

Hamlet.  O,  I  die,  Horatio ; 

The  potent  poison  quite  o'er-crows  my  spirit. 
I  cannot  live  to  hear  the  news  from  England, 
But  I  do  prophesy  the  election  lights 
On  Fortinbras ;  he  has  my  dying  voice. 
So  tell  him,  with  the  occurrents,  more  and  less, 
Which  have  solicited.    The  rest  is  silence. 

—V,  ii,  363. 

Over  "more  and  less"  death  draws  the  veil,  and  Hamlet,  like  Mercutio, 
dies  Hamlet  still. 

Whether  Hamlet  meant  to  add  to  the  word  "solicited"  any  object 
not  virtually  contained  in  it,  thus  leaving  the  sentence  unfinished,  cannot 
certainly  be  determined.  But,  though  many  modern  editions  punctuate 
with  a  dash,  Shakespeare's  practice  seems  to  be  rather  against  such  a 
construction.  There  seems  to  be  only  one  certain  instance  of  it :  Hotspur, 
whose  reflections  were  partly  quoted  above,  concludes  with  a  broken 
sentence  addressed  to  himself,  "No,  Percy,  thou  art  dust,  And  food  for — " 
v/hich  Prince  Hal  completes — "For  worms,  brave  Percy."  Cleopatra's 
last  words,  "What  [=  why]  should  I  stay,"  are  logically  complete  not- 
withstanding Charmian's  continuation  of  "In  this  vile  world."  More 
natural,  perhaps,  than  the  abruptly  broken  speech,  certainly  more  effective, 
are  those  cases  in  which  the  last  utterance  contracts  to  an  exclamation  or 
wanders  into  repetition  and  semi-articulateness.  Thus,  for  instance, 
Mercutio,  to  the  last  throb  of  his  vigorous  life,  ejaculates  his  surprise 
and  indignation :  "A  plague  of  both  your  houses !  They  have  made  worms' 
meat  of  me.  I  have  it,  and  soundly  too.  Your  houses !"  And  Cleopatra, 
applying  the  asps,  sinks  in  a  euthanasia,  crooning  as  it  were  her  own 
lullaby  (V,  ii,  311)  : 

Cleo.  Peace,  peace! 

Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 
That  sucks  the  nurse  asleep  ? 
As  sweet  as  balm,  as  soft  as  air,  as  gentle, — 
O  Antony! — Nay,  I  will  take  thee  too: 
What  should  I  stay—" 

The  figures  under  which  the  dying  speak  of  life  and  death  are 
interesting,  though  perhaps  in  no  wise  instructive.  The  following  will 
illustrate : 


154  MATZKE   MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

(Hour-glass) 

York.    The  sands  are  numbered  that  make  up  my  life. 

—2  Henry  VI,  I,  iv,  25. 

(Lamp) 

Clifford.    Here  burns  my  candle  out. — 5  Henry  VI,  II,  vi,  i. 
(Compare  Macbeth's  "Out,  out,  brief  candle!") 
Antony.    The  torch  is  out. — A.  and  C,  IV,  xiv,  46. 

(Voyage) 

K.  John.    The  tackle  of  my  heart  is  crack'd  and  burn'd, 
And  all  the  shrouds  wherewith  my  life  should  sail 
Are  turned  to  one  thread,  one  little  hair. 

— K.  John,  V,  vii,  52. 

Romeo.    Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 
The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-sick  weary  bark ! 

— R.  and  J.,  V,  iii,  117. 

Othello.    Here  is  my  journey's  end,  here  is  my  butt 
And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 

— Othello,  V,  ii,  267. 

Kent.    I  have  a  journey,  sir,  shortly  to  go. 

— King  Lear,  V,  iii,  321. 

These  are,  of  course,  the  commonplaces  of  poetry,  though  sometimes 
marked  with  Shakespeare's  peculiar  transmuting  power.  But  more 
touching,  one  feels,  than  deliberate  or  conventional  figures,  are  those 
remoter  metaphors  and  euphemisms  beneath  which  the  coming  doom 
is  sometimes  veiled.  Though  apparently  employed  only  by  minor 
characters,  they  carry  a  most  effective  challenge  to  the  imagination.  Thus 
Iras  says  {A.  and  C,  V,  ii,  193) : 

Iras.    Finish,  good  lady ;  the  bright  day  is  done, 
And  we  are  for  the  dark. 

And  Charmian,  to  whom  Cleopatra  had  promised  "I'll  give  thee  leave  to 
play  till  doomsday,"  addresses  her  dead  mistress   (V,  ii,  321): 

Char.  "Your  crown's  awry ; 

I'll  mend  it  and  then  play — " 

With  these,  as  similarly  significant,  I  should  unhesitatingly  place  the 
last  words  of  Lear's  Fool,  who  disappears  in  the  middle  of  the  play. 
Says  Lear,  "We'll  go  to  supper  in  the  morning,"  and  the  Fool  responds 
(III,  vi,  92): 

Fool.    And  I'll  go  to  bed  at  noon. 


LAST   WORDS   OF   SHAKESPEARE's    CHARACTERS — NEWCOMER  155 

Indeed,  it  is  not  impossible  that  behind  Lear's  words  themselves  lay,  in 
Shakespeare's  mind,  the  thought  which  he  had  brought  out  in  Hamlet 
when  Hamlet  says  Polonius  is  "at  supper" — "not  where  he  eats,  but  where 
he  is  eaten."  One  can  conceive  of  the  poet's  delighting  in  this  eironeia 
even  though  he  should  not  expect  the  audience  to  understand  it. 

The  typical  death  in  the  chronicle  plays  is  a  Christian  death,  with 
thoughts  fixed  on  heaven,  divine  pardon,  and  the  soul's  peace.  In  the 
other  tragedies,  including  the  distinctly  Christian  play  of  Hamlet,  and 
Romeo  and  Juliet  with  its  "ghostly  confessor,"  these  things  color  very 
little  or  not  at  all  the  actual  final  scenes.  In  the  latter  play,  the  domin- 
ating thought  is  of  "triumphant  death,"  of  the  all-devouring  grave,  and 
abode  with  worms. 

Romeo.  Here,  here  will  I  remain 

With  worms  that  are  thy  chamber-maids ;  O,  here 
Will  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest. 
And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars 
From  this  world-wearied  flesh. 

—V.  iii,  io8. 

Yet  the  scenes  are  quite  purged  of  sordid  passions.  Perhaps  the  nearest 
approach  to  selfish  interests  is  in  Brutus's  and  Antony's  very  Roman 
concern  for  glory ;  even  so,  love,  which  is  by  no  means  to  be  regarded  as 
selfish,  divides  with  glory  the  conflict  in  Antony's  breast.  In  the  thoughts 
of  Romeo,  Juliet,  Cleopatra,  and  Desdemona,  love  reigns  almost  sole; 
and  even  with  Othello  love  rises  above  the  bitterness  of  his  tragic  fate. 
Lear's  last  thoughts  are  centred  upon  Cordelia.  Hamlet  thinks  first  of 
his  good  report  and  last  of  the  kingdom.  Laertes  begs  for  Hamlet's 
forgiveness,  and  Enobarbus  despairs  of  Antony's ;  Edmund  vainly 
endeavors  to  make  amends  to  Lear.  Emilia  dies  full  of  devotion  to 
Desdemona,  as  Iras  and  Charmian  to  Cleopatra.  Thus,  though  the 
Christian  note  be  absent,  honor  (with  its  counterpart,  shame),  love,  and 
loyalty,  make  up  a  trinity  of  great  and  essentially  noble  passions  domin- 
ating these  spirits  in  the  hour  of  death. 


A   COMMENTARY   ON   VERSES   36-52   OF   THE   "EXCUSE   A 

ARISTE" 

Colbert  Searles 

ALL  students  of  Corneille  know  that  the  Excuse  a  Ariste  was 
written  by  Corneille,  in  response  to  a  request  for  verses  for  a 
chanson  from  his  correspondent,  who  is  identified  by  Marty- 
Laveaux  and  Gaste^  with  one  Andre  de  Saint-Denis,  a  monk  of  the 
Couvent  des  Feuillants  de  Saint-Mesmin.  Few  writers  on  Corneille  and 
the  Quarrel  of  the  Cid  have  failed  to  cite  the  verses  which  the  poet  in- 
serted, proclaiming  his  merits  as  a  poet  and  insisting  on  the  independent 
methods  by  which  he  had  won  his  reputation.  It  will  be  convenient  for 
the  sake  of  reference  to  cite  them  once  more. 

Je  sgay  ce  que  je  vaux,  et  croy  ce  qu'on  m'en  dit 
Pour  me  faire  admirer  je  ne  fais  point  de  ligue, 
J'ay  peu  de  voix  pour  moy,  mais  je  les  ay  sans  brig^e, 
Et  mon  ambition  pour  faire  plus  de  bruit 

40  Ne  les  va  point  quester  de  Reduit  en  Reduit, 

Mon  travail  sans  appuy  monte  sur  le  Theatre, 
Chacun  en  liberte  I'y  blasme  ou  I'idolatre, 
La  sans  que  mes  amis  preschent  leurs  sentiments 
J'arrache  quelque  fois  trop  d'applaudissements, 

45  La  content  du  succes  que  le  merite  donne 

Par  d'illustres  avis  je  n'6blouis  personne 
Je  satisfaits  ensemble  et  peuple  et  courtisans 
Et  mes  vers  en  tous  lieux  sont  mes  seuls  partisans 
Par  leur  seule  beaute  ma  plume  est  estimee 

50  Je  ne  dois  qu'a  moy  seul  toute  ma  Renomm^e, 

Et  pense  toute  fois  n'avoir  point  de  rival 
A  qui  je  fasse  tort  en  le  traittant  d'egal. 

Even  Corneille's  champions  regretted,  or  tried  to  excuse,  the  "vanity" 
of  these  verses.*     His  enemies  took  advantage  of  them  to  throw  the 

^  Marty-Laveaux,  Corneille,  Gr.  Ecri.  fr.  III.,  p.  29 ;  Gast^,  La  Querelle  du 
Cid,  Paris,  1898,  p.  9  f. 

'  Le  Jugement  du  Cid  composi  par  un  Bourgeois  de  Paris,  Gaste,  op.  cit., 
P-  239  f ;  Discours  d  Cliton  sur  les  Observations  du  Cid,  Ibid.,  p.  241.    In  Chapelain's 


EXCUSE  A  ARISTE  —  SEARLES  157 

responsibility  of  precipitating  the  Quarrel  upon  the  poet  himself.  Cette 
scandaleuse  lettre  (Excuse  a  Ariste)  doit  estre  appelee  vostre  pierre 
d'achopement  puisque  sans  elle  ny  la  Satyre  de  I'EspagnoP  ny  la  Censure 
de  rObservateur*  n'eussent  jamais  este  congeiies."^  Modern  commentators, 
after  repeating  these  observations  or  assertions,  have  contented  them- 
selves with  ridiculing  or  condemning,  almost  without  reserve,  the  poet's 
rivals  for  criticizing  the  verses  in  question  and  for  taking  up  the  challenge 
which  they  contain.  Gaste  may  serve  as  the  spokesman  of  this  view  of 
the  case.  "If  the  rivals  of  Corneille,  formerly  his  friends  (i.  e.,  Mairet 
and  Scudery),  but  now  his  enemies,  after  the  success  of  the  Cid,  had 
not  been  blinded  by  a  ferocious  hatred  and  especially  by  the  basest 
jealousy,  they  would  have  overlooked  this  piece  which,  I  repeat,  was 
more  of  a  jest  than  a  serious  utterance;  but  sure  of  pleasing  Richelieu, 
they  took  in  I'Excuse  a  Ariste,  only  those  verses  in  which  half  seriously, 
half  playfully  Corneille  speaks  of  himself  a  little  too  favorably."^  It 
is  possible  that  if  we  had  all  the  facts  before  us  we  should  see  the  actions 
of  all  parties  concerned  in  a  light  somewhat  different  from  what  they 
appear  under  the  refracting  influences  of  our  admiration  for  the  great 
poet. 

In  the  Epistre  familier,  his  first  signed  contribution  to  the  Quarrel, 
Mairet  refers  to  verses  39  ff,  in  a  way  to  suggest  that  he  had  felt  from 
the  first  in  them  some  reference  to  himself:  Vous  sgavez  que  je  suis  de 
ceux  qui  peuvent  avoir  entree  en  ces  lieux  d'honneur,  a  qui  vous  donnez 
un  si  plaisant  nom,  lors  que  vous  dites  en  vous  mocquant  de  ceux  qui  y 
sont  receus:  Et  mon  ambition  etc.''  That  Mairet's  sensitiveness  was  not 
unfounded  is  proven  by  the  first  of  two  replies  which  this  Epistre 
familier  called  forth :  La  Lettre  du  Des-interessee  au  Sieur  Mairet,  written 
by  Corneille  or  one  of  his  friends  and  almost  certainly  with  his  cognizance. 
S'il  est  du  Parnasse  comme  du  Paradis  .  .  .  Tombez  d'accord  avec  tout 
le  monde  que  vous  en  estes  exclus,  si  vous  ne  restituez  la  plus  grandq 

manuscript  of  the  Sentiments  de  I'Academie  Frangoise  sur  le  Cid  there  is  also  a 
passage  incdit  which  excuses  Scudery  for  his  action  in  attacking  the  Cid  on  the 
ground  of  this  manifestation  of  vanity  on  the  part  of  Corneille.  Bibliotheque 
Nationale,  Ms.  Frangais,  15045,  pp.  56-57. 

^L'Autheur  du  vray  Cid  espagnol  d.  son  traducteur  francais.     Gast6,  op.  cit., 
67  f. 

*  Observations  sur  le  Cid  (Scudery)  Ibid.,  yi  ff. 

5  Epistre  familier  du  Sieur  Mayret,  Ibid.,  p.  291. 

^  Admiration  for  Corneille,  the  entirely  different  modern  point  of  view,  a 
sense  of  repulsion  befor*  the  gross  violence  which  characterized  the  quarrel  of 
the  Cid,  are  the  reasons  doubtless  of  this  almost  universal  tendency  to  overlook 
the  faults  of  Corneille,   while  condemning  those  of  his   rivals. 

T  Gaste,  op.  cit.,  p.  288. 


158  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

partie  de  vostre  reputation,  a  iin  maistre  (le  Comte  de  Belin)  qui  par 
excez  de  bonte  ne  s'est  pas  contente  de  vous  recevoir  chez  luy  genereuse- 
ment  au  fort  de  vos  miseres:  Mais  qui  par  son  approbation,  et  par 
I'honneur  qu'il  vous  a  fait  en  vous  regardant  d'assez  bon  oeil,  a  oblige  tons 
ses  amis  a  dire  du  bien  de  vos  oiivrages:  c'est  de  luy  seul  que  vous  tenez 
le  peu  d'estime  que  vous  possedez ;  non  du  merite  de  vos  oeuvres,  qui  ne 
sont  pas  si  parfaits,  que  tout  le  monde  n'y  ait  remarque  de  grands  deffauts.^ 
The  second  reply,  Advertisscment  an  Besangonnois  Mairet  which  is 
generally  attributed  to  Corneille  himself,  is  still  more  explicit  upon  this 
point.  Nous  voyons  maintenant  ce  qui  vous  picque,  vous  vous  fachez, 
de  ce  qu'on  a  deconvert  vos  brigiies,  et  les  artifices  que  vous  mettez 
en  usage  pour  mandier  un  peu  de  reputation,  vous  vous  plaignez  de  ce 
que  dit  M.  Corneille :  Que  son  ambition  etc.  .  .  .  On  sgait  le  petit 
commerce  que  vous  pratique:::,  et  que  vous  n'avez  point  d'applaudissemens 
que  vous  ne  gaigniez  a  force  de  Sonnets  et  de  reverences.  Si  vous, 
envoyiez  vos  pieces  de  Besangon,  comme  Mr.  Corneille  envoye  les  siennes 
de  Roiien,  sans  intercsser  personne  en  leur  siicces,  vous  tomberies  bien 
bas,  et  je  m'asseure  que  quclque  adresse  que  vous  apportiez  a  faire 
valoir  vostre  traduction  du  Solyman  Italien,  qui  a  desja  couru  les  ruelles 
dix-huict  mois,  et  qu'on  reserve  pour  cet  hyver,  le  bruit  de  cette  import- 
ante  piece  de  batterie  ne  fera  point  faire  retraitte  au  Cid.^ 

Scudery  had  quite  as  much  reason  as  Mairet  for  seeing  in  these 
verses  a  very  thinly  veiled  allusion  to  his  practices.  It  was  with  his 
Amant  Liberal  that  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  strove  to  compete  with  the 
Cid  triumphant  at  the  Theatre  du  Marais.^°  At  the  time  when  the 
Excuse  a  Ariste  was  being  printed,  Scudery  had  two  volumes  in  press  :^^ 
one  containing  La  Mort  de  Cesar  and  a  collection  of  miscellaneous  poems 
in  praise  of  the  King  and  Richelieu,  to  whom  the  whole  is  dedicated ;  the 
other  volume  contained  the  Didon  and  was  dedicated  to  the  Comte  de 
Belin,  who  was  second  only  to  Richelieu  as  a  patron  of  the  theater.  Now 
the  Didon,  as  its  author  admits,  had  been  rather  cooly  received.  In  the 
dedicatory  epistle  Scudery  complains  of  the  attacks  of  envious  rivals, 
quite  as  bitterly  as  Corneille  does  in  the  Excuse  a  Ariste,  and  bespeaks 
the  support  of  his  patron.  He  was  moreover  cultivating  the  Count's 
friendship  very  assiduously  in  other  ways.     On  the  22nd  of  February 

*  Gaste,  op.  cit.,  p.  317.  The  italics  in  this  and  other  citations  of  this  paper 
are  mine. 

^  Ibid.,  p.  324  f. 

^°  See :  L'Inconnu  et  Veritable  Amy.de  Messieurs  de  Scudery  et  Corneille, 
Gaste  op.  cit.,  p.  156. 

^^  The  privilege  of  both  volumes  is  dated  May  1636  but  they  did  not  appear  in 
print  till  about  the  middle  of  the  following  year. 


EXCUSE   A   ARISTE  —  SEARLES  159 

Chapelain  wrote  to  the  Comte  de  Belin :  M.  et  Mile  de  Scudery  sont  icy 
qui  se  tiient  de  publier  vos  generosites  et  vos  courtolsies,  dont  je  suis 
extremement  satisfait.^^  Under  these  conditions  there  was  something 
more  than  badinage  in  verses  like:  Par  d'illustres  advis  je  n'chlou'is 
personne,  or,  if  there  was  not,  Mairet  and  Scudery  may  well  be  pardoned 
for  thinking  there  was.  All  the  facts  brought  out  in  the  documents  above 
cited  must  have  been  perfectly  well  known  to  the  literary  public  of  the  time, 
and  a  considerable  portion  of  this  public  can  hardly  have  failed  to  see  in 
these  very  clear  insinuations,  an  attack  by  Corneille  upon  the  artistic 
integrity  of  his  two  most  important  rivals.  From  this  point  of  view, 
it  is  unjust  to  both  Scudery  and  Mairet  to  attribute  their  action  solely 
to  the  promptings  of  "la  plus  basse  jalousie."  The  methods  of  securing 
support  and  patronage  which  they  had  put  in  practice  were  quite  in  vogue 
and  they  could  hardly  fail  to  resent  the  allegations  of  their  rival. 

But  was  it  merely  vanity  or  "commodite  de  la  rime"  {Disc ours  a 
Cliton)  which  led  Corneille  to  indulge  in  this  unfortunate  expression  of 
his  sentiments  ?  To  the  poet  of  Rouen  whose  works  had  to  stand  or  fall 
on  their  merits,  these  manoeuvres  of  his  rivals  in  Paris  must  have  been 
a  source  of  considerable  irritation.  There  are  at  least  two  other  causes 
which  may  have  contributed  to  his  dissatisfaction. 

On  the  15th  of  February,  1637,  Chapelain  writes  a  letter  to  Mile. 
Paulet,  reporting  the  results  of  an  interview  which  he  has  had  with 
Desmarests  de  Saint-Sorlin,  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  his  corres- 
pondent: Suyvant  done  vos  ordres,  je  vis  hier  M.  Desmarests,  auquel 
j'eus  a  peine  propose  de  vostre  part  le  retranchement  des  vers  dont  M. 
Scudery  avoit  este  choque,  qu'il  me  respondit  de  galand  homme, 
que  non  seulement  il  les  rayeroit  pour  I'amour  de  ceux  qui  y 
prenoient  interest,  mais  encore  osteroit  ceux  du  Cid  qui  avoient  cause 
ce  petit  scandale.^^  It  is  evident  from  the  context  of  the  letter  that 
Desmarests  had,  in  the  Visionnaires,  put  in  the  mouth  of  one  of  his 
characters  (Sestiane)  a  comparison  setting  the  Cid  above  his  own  Aspasie, 
(1636 J  and  a  play  of  Scudery's — doubtless  L'Amant  Liberal.  As  the 
passage  quoted  indicates,  Desmarests  was  quite  willing  to  put  an  end  to 
the  discussion  (toute  cette  liderie)  which  this  comparison  had  caused 
and  the  affair  seemed  to  be  settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties  con- 
cerned. On  the  6th  of  March  Chapelain  felt  justified  in  writing  to  Balzac : 
Vous  scavez  que  mon  exercice  joyeux  du  Carnival  a  este  d'accomoder 
une  guerre  dans  sa  naissance  entre  les  seconds  poetes,  qui  vous  firent  un 
esclaircissement  Tannee  passee,  (  ?)  et  M.  Desmarests,  auquel  ces  Mess- 


^2  Lettres,  Ed.  Tamizey  de  Larroque,  Paris  1880,  i,  p.  134. 
^^  Lettres,  T,  p.  137. 


160  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

ieurs  a  ma  diligence  ont  fait  reformer  quelques  endroits  d'une  comedie 
qu'il  a  donnee  au  public  et  ou  il  estoit  parle  d'eux  et  de  Ieurs  ouvrages 
moins  dignement  qu'ils  ne  croyent  meriter."  Now  this  bit  of  diplomacy 
on  the  part  of  Chapelain  cost  Corneille  a  very  flattering  bit  of  public 
recognition,  and  the  result  must  have  been  much  less  satisfactory  to  him 
than  to  any  of  the  other  parties  concerned. 

In  his  contributions  to  the  Quarrel  of  the  Cid,  Mairet  has  much  to 
say  of  the  debt  which  Corneille's  masterpiece  owed  to  the  actors  who 
presented  it,  and  Scudery  touches  upon  this  point  in  his  Lettre  a  I'lllustre 
Academie}^  This  allegation  is  probably  not  the  afterthought  which  it 
has  generally  been  represented  to  be.  In  1636  there  appeared  in  Paris, 
La  Suitte  de  la  Seconde  Partie  des  Lettres  de  M.  de  Balzac}'^  x\mong 
these  letters  there  is  one  addressed  to  Boisrobert,  in  which  the  Sage  of 
Charente  and  literary  oracle  of  his  day  gives  the  following  appreciation 
of  the  art  of  Mondory,  who  played  the  role  of  the  Cid :  II  est  certain  que 
la  grace  dont  il  prononce  les  Vers  leur  donne  un  degre  de  beaute  qu'ils 
ne  peuvent  recevoir  des  Poetes.  lis  ont  bien  plus  d'obligation  a  celuy 
qui  les  recite  qu'a  celuy  qui  les  a  faits,  et  ce  second  pere,  pour  le  dire 
ainsi,  les  purge  de  taus  les  vices  de  leur  naissance.  Le  son  de  sa  voix, 
accompagne  de  la  dignite  de  ses  gestes  annoblit  les  plus  vulgaires  et  les 
plus  viles  conceptions.  II  n'est  point  d'ame  si  bien  fortifiee  contre  les 
objets  des  sens,  a  qui  il  ne  face  violence,  ny  de  jugement  si  fin  et  si 
prepare,  qui  se  puisse  garantir  de  I'imposture  de  sa  parole.  De  sorte 
que  s'il  y  a  en  ce  monde  quelque  souverain  bien  pour  les  vers,  il  faut 
avoiier  qu'elle  est  dans  sa  bouche  et  dans  son  recit,  et  que  comme  les 
mauvaises  choses  y  prennent  I'apparence  du  bien,  les  bonnes  y  trouvent 
leur  perfection."  Marty-Laveaux  in  this  connection  cites  only  the 
in-folio  edition  of  Les  Oeuvres  de  Balzac  (1665),  and  apparently  over- 
looked this  special  edition  of  1636,  which  permits  him  to  assert:  La  date 
de  ces  reflexions  de  Balzac  ne  permet  pas  de  les  appliquer  au  Cid.^^  They 
were  newly  acquired  public  property  when  the  Cid  appeared,  and  jealous 
rivals  of  the  poet  were  doubtless  quick  to  avail  themselves  of  this  power- 
ful auxiliary.  Mairet  was  probably  not  the  first  to  make  use  of  them, 
when  he  declared  in  his  Epistre  Familier:  C'est  proprement  du  Cid  et 
des  pieces  de  telle  nature  que  Monsieur  de  Balzac  a  voulu  parler  en  la 
derniere  de  ses  dernieres  lettres,  quand  il  a  dit  du  Roscius  Auvergnac, 


^*l^ettres,  I,  p.   139- 

1"  Gaste,  op.  cit.,  p.  215. 

I'The  Achevi  d'imprimer  is  dated  the  26th  of  February,  1636. 
"0/».  cit.,  I,  322. 
"0/».  cit..  Ill,  9,  I  (footnote) 


EXCUSE   A   ARISTE  —  SEARLES  161 

que  si  les  vers  out  quelque  souverain  bien  c'est  dans  sa  bouche  qu'ils  en 
jouyssent,  qivils  sont  plus  obligez  a  celuy  qui  les  dit  qu'a  celuy  qui  les  a 
taits,  et  bref  qu'il  en  est  le  second  et  meilleur  pere,  d'autant  que  par 
une  favorable  adoption  il  les  purge  par  maniere  de  dire  des  vices  de 
leur  naissance.^'-*  At  any  rate  the  concentrated  irritation  of  Corneille's 
reply  suggests  very  clearly  that  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  this 
altogether  extravagant  and  unjust  claim  had  come  to  his  ears:  Criez 
tant  qu'il  vous  plaira,  et  donnez  aux  acteurs  ce  qui  n'est  deu  qu'au  Poete, 
servez  vous  du  tesmoignage  de  Mr.  de  Balzac  il  ne  vous  sera  point 
advantageux,  ne  traite-t-il  pas  Massinisse  et  Brutus  de  mesme  que  Jason 
qu'il  nomme  le  premier,  pour  monstrer  qu'il  estime  plus  son  Autheur 
que  vous.^°  It  is  very  likely  that  the  verses:  Par  leur  seule  heaute  ma 
plume  est  estimee,  Je  ne  dois  qua  may  seul  t\oute  ma  Renommee,  have 
no  wider  significance  than  a  reply  to  the  insinuations  which  this  letter  of 
Balzac  seemed  to  authorize. 

While  both  Mairet  and  Scudery  could  very  reasonably  feel  that 
verses  37-50  were  directed  against  them  in  common,  the  latter  had  some 
reason  for  seeing  a  special  challenge  to  himself  in  the  last  two  cited  (51 
and  52).  It  is  too  generally  forgotten  that  the  piece  with  which  the  Hotel 
de  Bourgogne  strove  to  compete  with  the  Theatre  du  Marais  and  the  Cid 
was  precisely  a  play  of  Scudery's,  L'Amant  Liberal.  The  letter  of 
Chapelain  to  Mile.  Paulet,  cited  above,  shows  that  early  in  this  competi- 
tion a  comparisom  had  been  made,  in  the  manuscript  at  least,  of  the 
Visionnaires,  a  comparison  which,  Desmarests  asserted,  had  been  sug- 
gested to  him  by  another;-^  that  out  of  this  discussion  there  had  arisen 
"a  little  scandal"  and  considerable  wrangling  (toute  cette  liderie)  and 
that  Chapelain  had,  as  he  thought,  put  an  end  to  this  "guerre  dans  sa 
naissance."  All  this  is  very  evidently  in  Corneille's  mind  when  he  declares 
in  his  Lettre  Apologitique :  II  n'est  pas  question  de  scavoir  de  combien 
vous  estes  noble  ou  plus  vaillant  que  moy,  pour  juger  de  combien  le 
Cid  est  meilleur  que  I'Amant  Liberal.^^  Now  it  was  in  the  midst  of 
this  efifervescence  that  the  provocative  verses : 

Et  pense  toute  fois  n'avoir  point  de  rival 
A  qui  je  fasse  tort  en  le  traittant  d'egal, 

came  to  fall,  and  L'Inconnu  et  Veritable  Amy  de  Messieurs  de  Scudery  et 
Corneille  evidently  voices  the  opinion  of  a  considerable  number,  when  he 

19  Gaste,  op.  cit.,  p.  289  f. 
^°Ibid.,  p.  325. 
-^Chapelain,  Letters,  I,  p.  137. 
22  Gaste,  op.  cit.,  p.  147. 


162  MATZKE    MEMORIAL   VOLUME 

declares :  on  trouve  fort  estrange  que  Monsieur  Corneille,  qui  est  sage, 
et  doit  estre  sans  presomption  et  vaine  gloire,  voulust  pretendre  un  degre 
de  preeminence  audessus  de  Monsieur  de  Scudery,  qui  a  fait  une 
infinite  des  plus  beaux  Poemes  qui  se  jouent  a  present  sur  le  Theatre.^^ 
And  in  the  passage  inedit,  above  cited  (page  2,  note  i),  of  Chapelain's 
manuscript  of  the  Sentiments  de  I'Academie  Frangoise,  we  find  this 
excuse  for  Scudery:  Nous  Ten  trouvous  d'autant  moins  blasmable  qu'il 
n'estoit  hors  de  propos  que  la  vanite  a  laquelle  le  Poete  s'estoit  laisse 
emporter  fust  un  peu  mortifiee,  et  qu'ayant  use  peu  modestement  de  sa 
bonne  fortune  il  se  trouvast  quelqu'un  asses  interesse  a  son  abbaissement 
(var.  humiliation)  pour  ne  le  luy  pas  pardonner  de  s'estre  si  fort  esleve 
au  dessus  des  autres.  Under  these  circumstances  it  is  not  difficult  to 
understand  the  action  of  Scudery,  and  there  is  little  reason  for  questioning 
the  sincerity  of  his  claim  in  the  Lettrc  a  rilltistre  Academie:  II  suffit 
qu'on  sgache  que  le  sujet  qui  m'a  fait  escrire  est  equitable,  et  qu'il  n'ignore 
pas  luy-mesme,  que  j'ay  raison  d'avoir  escrit.  (i)  At  any  rate  Scudery 
receives  a  justification  from  no  less  a  contemporary  personage  than 
Chapelain,  not  only  in  the  passage  just  cited,  but  also  in  a  private  letter 
written  to  Balzac  the  13th  of  June,  1637.  En  Italic,  il  (le  Cid)  eust  passe 
pour  barbare  et  il  n'y  a  point  d'Academie  qui  ne  I'eust  banni  des  confins 
de  sa  jurisdiction ;  ce  qui  a  donne  beau  jeu  a  Mr.  de  Scudery,  corrival 
de  Corneille,  de  luy  opposer  les  fautes  que  vous  verres  remarques  dans 
le  volume  que  je  vous  envoye.  .  .  .  Maintenant  ces  chaleurs  de  poetes 
nous  embarassent,  car  Scudery,  se  tenant  fort  de  la  verite,  a  retenu  pour 
juge  du  different  la  noble  Academie  dont  vous  estes  un  des  principau 
membres.-* 


-3  Gaste,  op.  cit.,  p.  155. 
^^Letters,  I,  156. 


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